DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS-Seduced by the Senator
by DC DIRTY SECRETS
Summary: Senator Grey connects with Ana Steele only to let her go. When she turns up as his newest intern things get dark, twisted, and volatile on his campaign trail. Ana is looking to find a job far removed from her elitist and famous family, and accepts the Senator's offer that involves more D.C. politics. He's after one target. Her. At any cost! All aboard this hell bent train!
1. It's in His Kiss

**Prologue**

It's In His Kiss

"ONE MORE drink? Can't hurt," I say as the group of girls I'm with proposes doing a round of fireballs. Crap. We've done everything from double shots of tequila to blow jobs to flaming B52s, and fine. One more.

Rowena orders singles this time. "Anyone up for a snort?" she asks, pulling out a vial of coke, and I shake my head. The music ramps up and I can't resist, glancing at the dance floor and tapping my foot.

Kate pulls my hand and shouts, "Ana! This is my song!" Both of us rise on heels that should come with a warning against drinking and dancing. "It's my favorite!"

"You've said that at least three times," I admonish her but laugh as we blow through the crowd and onto the dance floor.

Five us fly to Seattle for the weekend in Kate's parent's plane. We're hanging out in Rowena's dad's brownstone, clubbing all night, and I don't care that within the last two days, I've downed two liters of alcohol. It's May, classes are over, I'm twenty-two, and for once, I'm not going to sit and worry about my future. Not when there's plenty of handsome men around who smile at me, devilish enough to make me believe that I could do something crazy for once…say, ditch my friends in a New York city second, and lose myself.

_When in Rome—am I right?_

The men giving me a once over have no idea who I am, and don't frigging care! That's why I love escaping Boston and getting lost.

"We're almost sprinting!" I shout.

"Don't want to miss the best part." Kate doesn't stop until we're out in the middle of the dance floor. Soon afterward, she's sandwiched between two guys and shouts, "Come join us!"

"I'm good." I close my eyes. This is what it's like to be free! I lift my arms, swivel my hips, the music blaring all around…and when I open my eyes, I see him. From flying high, I'm tumbling fast.

My brain sizzles.

I stare across the dance floor at a man. More like a God.

Orion…some mythical hunter.

I shiver from his power. It's his eyes.

Brighter than exploding twin stars.

They consume me.

Obliterate my next thought and the one after that one.

I swallow, and gather he's not just some run of the mill handsome hunk. He's got this stare that slices through the bodies gyrating next to me, and right into the center of my being. I want to look away—Christ, I tell myself—look the hell away…but I can't. Instead of being mortified that Mr. Gorgeous is staring holes in me, I'm excited. He's seated maybe twenty feet away, behind the VIP velvet roped area at a table with three other men—all of them in suits. He doesn't seem to be focused on their animated conversation. No, he's zoning in on one target…me.

He lifts a glass to his mouth, and over the rim, he watches me dance. There's something so familiar about him. No way could I have met him at one of my family's parties. He's not only gorgeous—there's an intensity about him. Proof that I'm caught in a mind-screw-fest as I dance for him—nearly a whole song.

Mesmerized, I let go as though I know what he wants. I don't feel cheap or sleazy—he makes me want to be daring. Provocative. And in return, I want to tempt him like he's tempting me. Cupping my tits, I alternate rotating my shoulders slowly to the music, and yes, I imagine that his mouth is on me, drinking between my legs. His tongue drives my wild. He doesn't care who my family is as he forces my legs wider, imprisoning me under him until I forget everything except how insane he makes me feel.

My dress—a tiny scrap of shiny white material—rises up my thighs, the hem tickling my skin. Thank God there are people all around and steamy clouds billows up from the floor or the slice of man cake would be getting a shot of just how little I'm wearing. And just as I think that thought, the crowds part, and guess who gets an eyeful of me and my dirty dance routine. My admirer leans over, setting his glass down, and I get that's his eyes have just gotten a panoramic view of me and the strip of lace I call my thong.

He breaks eye contact—he's saying something to the men seated with him, and then he's up and out of his seat. Now, I'm the one leaning to the side, then to the other, wondering is he leaving. I track his movement, my heart beating, and I'm edging off of the dance floor. He's a head taller than everyone and easy to spot as he walks from the VIP section. Even in the dimly lit space between the bar and tables overlooking the dance floor, I follow his progress. When he enters a section that is better lit, our gazes reconnect. We're closer and in that flash, I can't move. Or think. Or breathe. Tractor beams aren't this strong or mind warping.

A woman shouts, "Excuse me."

Shit, I'm frozen, and have to decide, I can stay at the edge of the dance floor or exit. I'm no longer dancing, and it's like my feet direct me toward him. "Okay, wait," I tell myself. I can't just head off his progress—he might be headed for the front door.

"You're quite a dancer," he says in a deep voice, shaped by a slight Southern accent, and towering like a redwood right in front of me.

For the year it takes for my brain to reconnect, I lift my chin and face him. "Thanks," I reply.

Oh.

Dear.

God!

His gaze pulls at me. This specimen of a man isn't like the 'boys' I realize I've known. Up close, I look into his smoky grey eyes that don't just consume, they devour me. He holds off smiling, looking down at me, and slightly cocks his head to the side. Instantly, I want to run my fingers through his thick dark messy hair that frames his chiseled and yes, stunning face. All at once, it's like the weekend of drinking pretty-colored shots, goes to my head, and I sway.

"Hey." His hand shoots out, taking hold of my arm. "Hey. You all right?"

_Scotty, beam me up! _"It's kinda crowded. I'm just hot," I think I say.

I'm beyond hot standing next to him and now with his fingers on my skin, it's all I can do to stay upright.

"Come talk to me," he says, tugging on my arm. "Over here."

His touch isn't static, but hits me like a rocket, racing along my skin then diving deep, like a spark of fiery pleasure that implodes in my belly. He leads me to an alcove, down from the dance floor, and one I didn't know existed. Not that I've been to this club before. Thunderstruck, I follow along, his hand on my arm and a tiny voice inside my head, asks the question. _Should I be afraid?_ We're alone and even though he's wearing an expensive suit, he has the body of someone who clearly doesn't sit around all day, crunching numbers. He stares down at me, thoughtfully assessing as he waits for me to say something, I imagine.

Inside the narrow hall, I'm panting and the blood is pounding in my ears. Should I admit that I'm floored that a man who is taller than any jungle gym I've encountered, wants to talk.

"Who the heck are you?" I ask, my tongue is numb instead of loose from all the drinking and being this close to an unchecked power source of masculinity.

He laughs—the sound is gravelly and a decadent rumble in his chest. Far different than those men I associate with from Nantucket. Each is owned by woman, birthed and bred to dress in pastels, smile graciously while wearing strings of pearls, and wielding a saber.

"Your worst nightmare," he says, leaning over and whispering in my ear.

"Trust me," I reply. "You're not."

For a beat our gazes lock. He leans closer. "I'd like to kiss you."

Okay, he's not a nightmare, but definitely the idea of him really touching me more so than what he's already doing, is all at once scary and mind-bending. And instead of being frightened, my clueless brain is saturated with lust so deeply tinged, it's cloying. I know without question, whatever he has to offer, I want in on. Now.

"Just a kiss?" I ask.

"Just a kiss," he promises and my heart batters within my chest.

I don't close my eyes, bending toward him. He's what I need. Maybe this is a just kiss, but it's a reminder that I don't want to spend another New England summer counting days, hours, minutes.

I want dark, hard, and gritty.

A blur and a storm.

Dangerous.

I can't become what my family wants. Predictable. Safe. A cog in the wheel.

One kiss and I'll remember. I've got to remember this night. Our lips meet and his warm mouth envelops me in a way that fully relays he knows how to kiss—knows how to…how to do other things. He slides his hand to the back of my head, imprisoning me—Jesus, in reality he's freeing me by taking the reins—guiding me so that our mouths are at the perfect angle as he traces my lips. Without warning, he thrusts his tongue in between my lips, fisting his fingers in my hair, shifting my head back as my chin tips up.

He sucks my bottom lip between his teeth, biting down and pushing me back until I'm flush against the cool wall. His body is hard, so hard and forceful, and the scent of his cologne** enters me and takes root deeper than the darkest of dark secrets.** Like a one of those ancient pine forests but tinged with smoky and then there's an undercurrent of leather, and I inhale, swallowing a moan to take another whiff of him that travels through me, landing between my legs.

He takes my face between his hands, and kisses me again, growling, "Open for me. All the way."

"Please," I moan.

He's mouth is harder this time. His tongue goes deeper. He's little rough. Not too much but the kind of kiss that relays, without argument, he's in control as he plunges his tongue into my mouth. Giving me a taste of what he could do, if he desired to do more.

And that's what I hunger for: MORE!

I want his hands on my body, rougher than the edge of this kiss and equally demanding. I arch against him as he holds my face, tongue banging my mouth. Our hips connect and the rigid bar of his cock presses into my belly. I lift up onto my tiptoes, seeking to get closer, lifting my knee to give him better access.

He stops devouring my mouth, dragging his lips along my jaw as my breasts ache for his touch. I reach for him and he hoists my hands above my head. "You can't imagine the things we could do," he whispers. "The way you'd feel if you gave yourself to me."

"If?" I ask.

"Yeah. If." He releases my arms and spins me around, recapturing my hands. He presses my palms to the wall. One by one. Without stopping, he kicks my heels apart and pulls back on my hips. Just a little, while lifting my dress and draping across my lower back. "How old are you?" he asks, leaning over me as his thumbs peel apart my ass cheeks.

I'm fully exposed to him and I answer, prepared to let him do me in any way, shape, or form he desires.

"Old enough." I gaze over my shoulder and meet his eyes.

"That's not an answer," he replies, his thumbs sweeping down my crevice.

"I didn't use a fake ID to get in. Okay?" I bite my lip to stop from whimpering when pushes my hips down, letting my hem fall and cover my bottom.

"You like to argue." He scrapes his jaw against my cheek as though punishing me for not giving him a direct answer.

"You seem to like a woman who isn't a total pushover."

"We're equally paired. You and I." He nips my skin, and moves his lips to my neck, sucking a point that has my eyes rolling back in my head. I'm going to come so unbelievably loud and hard from this man kissing me in a dark hall. In an ear-popping club, I decide this is my moment of flying by the seat of my pants, past the land of crazy! I push back, swaying my bottom against his cock, fitting his thick erection in between the valley of my ass. He pushes himself forward, his fingers curled around my hips, pumping his cock into me.

We're two seconds away from going from dry humping to full-throttle sex in public, and I hear a low growl escape his lips.

"One kiss. Christ, we've done a little more," he says, his voice comes out gravelly. I'm stunned as I turn toward him. He bends forward, kisses my mouth one last time. A sweet kiss, a lingering plant of his lips against mine, and then he releases me. "Shall I walk you back to your friends?"

No more hands on me. No more lips. Only a few paltry words.

"My friends…" This isn't how I envisioned our conversation—we shouldn't be talking—we should be half-naked. Clearly this is an ending and I don't understand.

He steps back, raking a set of long fingers through his hair, and gazes down at me with that same unrelenting stare that first grabbed me. "You didn't come alone. Did you?"

_Almost_…so it seems. I shake my head, my cheeks heat from embarrassment. Was I too crazy? Too easy? Not enough? "I'm fine. I'll probably go to the head." I gesture across the club toward the restrooms.

"Great meeting you," he says in a voice that's low and deep, but even with the music rebounding off the walls, I feel each syllable resonating in my body.

"You're leaving then." I say before I can censor the comment as 'not cool—don't say.'

"I am. Just stopped in for a drink. Friend's birthday. This place is too dangerous." He lets his gaze slide down my body, then he looks back at my face. "Much too dangerous to make a mistake."

_A mistake?_ My heart hammers in my chest, and I feel like he's tossed ice water in my face. I return to the land of autopilot—devolving to how I am around my family. "It's been fun, but I better get going too," I say, turning on my heel and away from his arresting face, away from his unrelenting gaze. Away from the hottest mistake of my pastel-colored life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~That's all for now. Stay tuned for the next chapter.

THANK YOU SO MUCH if you made it this far. DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS is gonna take us from Seattle to Boston to D.C. in a series that takes place in a little-known place called the Clubhouse or "House" for short. The story (book 1) is fully written and I'm writing the follow-up, book 2 or really installment 2. There are 8 planned full-stories. Dirty Secrets introduces the series and then each book is focused on characters and their _dirty little secrets _while Ana and Christian's love is explored, pushed, and tested.

And a BIG YES! I'm posting each dirty little chapter for fans to eat up? Some of you have written-THANK YOU! Love to hear from other fanfic readers and writers-DEFINITELY, I'M NOT LEAVING YOU HANGING.

Be prepared that I might re-edit and throw in some bonus chapters if I think I need to give you more. THIS IS DUALING POVs...so if that's not your cup of tea, please step away. STEP FAR AWAY! This is a story that goes deep and dark. Knowing what's running through Christian's head and heart and Ana's is important. Readers slamming me for that is just crazy. This is my story. It's free and don't smack me for that...there's so much else you can rant about. Thank you.

I don't know if you've read anything I write, but I always offer up free reads. I'm not spamming but sharing and THERE'S A DIFFERENCE.

Of course if you see something that's a WTF (?), please let me know.

I write fulltime after neurosurgery gone oh-so-many ugly shades of awful. All comments, suggestions, questions, or just a 'hey, get going on the next chapter, jackwad!" are appreciated. Take care and again, thanks for reading.(#8^D}


	2. I've Found My Heaven and My Hell

I Found My Heaven…and My Hell

CHRISTIAN GREY

What the…? I do a double take. _Who is that girl?_

Out on the dance floor, I spot her, and it's as if I can't look away. I eat her up, inch by incredible mind-blistering, dick hardening inch. What's not to like? Not a damn thing—except that she's not my usual dish—she's a shade of innocence someone like me should never touch.

Caramel-colored hair, long legs, hips swaying. Her nipples dart the sheer shiny material, stretching over her incredible tits. She's braless, free of being encumbered, and has got the type tits I could suck and slide my dick between for hours. Some quality about that girl screams a secret verse that only my cock seems to hear. That fucker is harder than granite, getting harder the more I stare.

_Shit. This captivation has got to stop._

Shifting my gaze, I try to concentrate on the conversation between Noah, Jax, and Ethan, my congressional associates for the night—another argument on foreign policy after the war, but for the hundredth time, I find myself gazing at a woman who dances as if she's in a dream. Mine.

"Chrisitan," Jax says. "You in for a shot?"

I return my focus to our table. "To wish your sorry ass happy birthday, hell yeah!"

The server smiles and places a bottle of Jack and shot glasses on the table. We all do a shot and then another, and I glance back at the dance floor just as the girl opens her incredible eyes and our gazes connect. My heartbeat races—it's an adrenaline rush to my senses. I lift my drink and study her. Every last thing about the girl reaches inside me and demands that I get hold of her. Soon!

I'm sitting here with Jackson Carter aka Jax.

Aka Speaker of the House.

Aka my second in command at the Clubhouse or the other 'House.'

Aka…the guy who'll give me a rash of shit for getting a hard-on for a sliver of innocence we both know is nothing more than a prick tease to men like us who command and control the women we fuck. He along with the other guys at this table…we're all hardcore Doms. Together with years under our collective belts, we maintain control in every aspect of our lives. Our public image and our dungeons never intersect. Ever. We're brutal, stone cold control freaks, so much that three years ago we put our rules in writing, and that includes no meeting chicks in random places. Prescribed private online sub hookups or at the House. That's it.

But tonight I'm not thinking with my head. Well, not the one above my shoulders. Watching this young woman, I quickly assess what I can do and how fast. There's a private hallway off the dance floor that is used to access the club owner's secret dungeon onsite. I know the owner; he's the representative of the 14th District, and wants to be the newest House member when we open up our monthly acceptance of applications. One. This is our surprise stop-in visit to check out his place and he's not allowed to be onsite. He left twenty minutes after we arrived. When we spoke earlier and he divulged that's where he houses his dirty little secret, a locked room that he uses and invited us to watch him in action this coming weekend.

Not my thing, but now I'm wondering if I can get the keys. I know I can't. It's against our House rules, which means I've got to either stop this fantasy of what I'm devising, or keep this insane idea of tasting that girl under wraps. I imagine spreading her, tying her down, and having my complete way with her for one night. The things I'd like to do to her—fill my head. I haven't felt this keyed up in for-fucking-ever.

Nothing might come of this, I remind myself. The girl could be here with a boyfriend or husband, but why is she dancing…like that alone? Doesn't look like the kind of girl that's tied down, but fuck she needs to be.

My muscles tightened. Decision made. My hunger to make contact with her overrides my common sense. Crazy doesn't describe the level of intoxication running rampant in my veins from watching the girl in the tiny white dress. "I'm heading out," I say, downing my drink.

"What the fuck, Christian?" Noah replies. "You just got here!"

"Jax has other plans tonight. Don't you?" I query my friend, knowing full well he's contracted two subs and he's got a private jet on standby to take him back to D.C. Back to our club for the night.

"Let the pussy go," Jax follows up. "He's got to get his beauty sleep. Can't have the prettiest of the senators with dark circles under his eyes."

"Actually, I'm going to go find a girl and fuck her up against a wall if you three pricks don't mind."

They all laugh, believing I'm pulling their chains.

"Better than your self-imposed celibacy!" Jax snorts, eyeing me critically. He doesn't say anything else—no one does. What can they say? I had a sub who nearly threw me under the bus and why I'm taking a break from offering up my services at the club.

"Are we good?" I ask, looking between them. I still take part in the running of the club and tonight is the first time in a long time that I feel the itch to do more than paperwork.

Ethan leans back and looks around, looks toward the dance floor, and suddenly I feel a twinge knife my chest. I don't want his eyes or anyone's eyes on that girl. He squints but doesn't do more than lift a brow as he swings his attention back to me. "Yeah. This place is happening. No doubts that it's classy after sitting her. So, do we accept Congressman Lowe or not?"

Jax nods as does Noah. I feign being on the proverbial fence. "I might go and see what's happening at the bar. Listen in on what's being said. Ask a few questions. Lowe's got to agree no more action in his onsite dungeon. If he shuts that door, and there's nothing being talked about, I've got no problems with him."

"Good fucking idea," Noah says. He was a D.A. before becoming a senator. Cynical as shit and what a ballbuster.

"Enjoy," I stand and loosen my tie, then reach into my pocket and remove a pair of tickets. "Happy birthday, cocksucker."

Jax has a thing for jazz. Good jazz, and he smiles. "Fuck you, boy," he says, his voice full of his Texas twang and I laugh.

"Be good," I say in parting.

In D.C. we're the face of Congress. Three others are missing tonight. No biggie. Together, we're classified as the poster boys. A photographer posted a series of us online that turned into a Whitehouse PR blitz that caught fire. From magazine covers to rallies, we're featured around the nation in a campaign to reinvigorate or popularize politics. PR bullshit gone wild!

Tagged as the gang of seven—the other one. We don't crawl up anyone's ass. We're too busy covering our own. We're the ones you elect and with any luck, you never contact. Yeah, screw any idea that we want to hear from you if you think that writing a check gives you power. Shut up but pay up is my unwritten motto. Not everyone's. There's only type of contact we appreciate and it's silent; contributions with no strings. Make a deposit. Send a check. Hell, cash works.

And sure, there are those constituents who really care. Voters who aren't interested in owning our souls and trying to turn us into political marionettes.

Those people, step right up. I, like my other esteemed congressmen seated here, have plenty of staffers and interns to deal with voters—their questions, calls, emails. And the ton of letters that arrive each and every day. For one moment—one night I'm putting aside that political B.S.

Walking away from the table, I see the girl move to the side of the dance floor. Fuck me flying! Is she leaving…? I lengthen my strides comparable to how I'm lengthening in my trousers. When I reach her side, I say the first thing I noticed—not what I'm actually thinking—and compliment her on her dancing. The material of her dress stretches over her chest, molding tightly to her tits and I imagine sucking each erect nipple into my mouth as I fist her hair and after I've thoroughly spanked her ass. God, to stain her cheeks with a paddle or a cane…What a thought! I'm ready to come in my pants.

She thanks me, her eyes—fuck I've never seen eyes that crystal color, and it's my turn to say something. Do something. Come up with a plan that goes beyond trading stares. I've got to move us away from the line of sight from the table and when she agrees to come talk to me, I can't resist but touch her. Tug her. And the feel of her satin smooth skin has my nerve endings relaying a message that she's too young…too innocent for what I hunger for. Too perfect and that's the problem.

She asks me, "Who are you?"

Moment of truth. I'm going with honesty. "You're worst nightmare."

When she promises I'm not, I wonder what's she been through. No one that pristine should be touched by darkness. I should step away and leave her be, but fuck I can't. Not if my insane life depended on it.

I move us into the hall and I lay out the edge of what I want. A tiny morsel. A kiss. She agrees and I tell myself go slow, but hell when our lips touch, I thrust my tongue all the way inside her mouth, threading my fingers in her silky mane, and pull—yank her hair. The exquisite feeling of owning her mouth has me ravenous for more. Holy hell, I'm ready to unzip my pants and have her ride me in this hall. In fucking public.

I command her. "Open for me. All the way." In reality the door within my Dom self has burst off its hinges and I've got to have her. In sixty seconds, I crave her like a drug, worse like the answer to a curse. One I possess and she's the one who will break it apart. Break me apart! I know sampling this girl is as dangerous as it will be satisfying. I've haven't raced the edge of something this sharp…something this eviscerating…NEVER.

She begs me in a siren's voice that reverberates in my brain. Her tone, the softness she offers I hunger to devour. When she gives me a snappy answer, I turn her around, prepared to show her how she can expect to be treated when she disobeys me. Lifting her dress, I stare at her perfect ass cheeks. And I do mean perfect. Firm, round, and I separate them, staring at how my hard cock behind my zipper will fit.

"How old are you?" I ask and she tells me old enough with her fresh mouth. Between gritted teeth, I remind her that's no answer.

I close my eyes, seeking the strength not to cave and fuck her up against this wall when every cell in my body demands that I take her.

Own her.

Bite her.

Mark her.

Make certain she understands how good, how extreme, how complete what I offer can be…if she submits to my every desire. In truth, she'll own me in how much I hunger to possess her.

Well fuuuuck! Again, she contradicts me and again, I'm closer to the point of no return. Her fresh remarks are the friction, leveraging my libido against my self-control. I lean over, cupping her ass, pumping my cock between her cheeks, and ignore my need to make sure she's legal age. If she's nineteen or twenty, this won't work. Over and over I slide up against her ass, skimming my fingers down between her cheeks, and stopping short of touching her pussy.

If I do, there's no stopping me. I'm so close to freeing my rod and slamming into her.

Fuck, I don't even have a condom handy!

Without knowing if she's legal age, one slip…one fall, and there goes my political career. With the VEEP offering me a spot on her ticket, I can't risk a scandal. And being in this hall is career crushing enough. I lower this woman's dress and step back…both figuratively and literally. I admit she and I would make a pair and as I do, I see how fucked up this is if I take her in public. So many shades beyond scandal—if she realizes who I am, she'd ruin me with the truth. I can walk away now, and what could she say? We shared a kiss. That's not exactly headline news.

Fuck, I'm harder than titanium and carnal instinct imbues me with an unshakable sense of how good it would be to bury my cock inside her over and over. Raking my fingers through my hair, I nod as the tendons knot in my neck and shoulders. "Guess we got carried away," I say…or some line of total bullshit.

She looks up at me with the face of an angel and I'm slipping…fast. I need this girl. Why? I don't fucking have a clue!

If I don't say something incredibly asinine, I'm going to back her up, into the corner, and that's it. I'll fuck her until she screams and comes all over my cock.

I admit this is a career _MISTAKE_. I say the word aloud, and inwardly curse myself. She's upset—probably hurt, and I want to reach out, smooth away what she feels. Get her naked, feed my hunger, and then take care of her. Hold her until the first rays of dawn burst apart the darkness in my soul, reflected in the sky and then do it all again. Over. Over. And Over.

Instead I watch her turn on her lovely heel, and walk way. Best _mistake_ I ever let go of I keep repeating, not that it's helpful. I'm not a fucking idiot…just the unnamed running mate for the Vice President of United States.


	3. Just a Little Shove I mean LOVE

HELP. PLEASE IF YOU'RE FOLLOWING ALONG WITH THIS STORY, HERE'S THE SET UP FOR ANA. Can you let me know...does this work? THANK YOU!

JUST A LITTLE SHOVE...I MEAN LOVE

AT THE CURB, I park and get out of my car, whistling and waving to Jose exiting South Station. "Hey oh! Let's go. We're running late."

As I go to move past him, he grabs me and crushes me within his arms. "Not too late for a hug!"

I squeal and thump him on the back, scrunching my eyes shut at missing him so much. "You're a nut."

"I miss you, Ana. Terribly."

"Then why do you stay away so long. A train ride. Not too tough."

"Girl, that rail runs in both directions," he mocks me. "You need to come to D.C. more often. I've got a job. You're the freewheeling student."

"Student, yes. Free—not even close," I retort, sticking out my tongue as I take shotgun.

Jose flips me off as he stalks around the hood of my car, humming under his breath. Once inside, he opens his messenger bag, and laughs devilishly. "Then help me, help you."

"What have you done?" I ask, eyeing him suspiciously, wearily. My best friend has a propensity to believe in the impossible and does the outlandish at the drop of a hat.

"You're welcome, Ms. Steele," he says, handing me a manila envelope. There's three copies, and a telephone number. Your contact is Nora. Call her!"

I shift my glance from him to the envelope, gritting my teeth. "I've got a contact? That you've arranged…dear mother of God."

"Follow through on this one and you'll thank me. Fuck, will you thank me!"

"Clearly, we see the world differently," I mutter, opening the envelope and removing a stack of neatly stapled documents. "An intern application? Ah no!"

"Button your lips and read," he commands me as he puts the car into gear.

I hate driving and when he's in town, he's behind the wheel, but right now I'm rethinking that one. I want to do anything besides give this application an iota of my attention. I may not know what direction I want to take when I graduate and everyone's good intentions, suggestions, connections…are strangling me—regardless of how well-meant.

"I'm so not going to D.C. Especially not to the part near Capitol Hill."

"Oh but you so are," he replies. "This is 'mission get your ass in gear' and get the hell out of Dodge. You're drowning here and besides, I've got it going on. Just need my wingman."

"Correction. That's _wingwoman_. I've got a vagina to prove it."

"Sweetheart_,_ I'm not the one who needs reminding of that fact. Another of the myriad of issues we'll address. One-by-one. I've got you in my sights. But back to the app you're holding. Nora is expecting your call. She's crazy, on the verge of bridge jumping with her boss. Christian Grey."

I glare at the application. Exhaling, I scan the page, and stop as I stare at the photograph of the gorgeous and unforgettable man at the bottom of the page. "Shit!" I hiss.

"What's wrong?" Jose snaps. "Do you know him?"

_Yeah, I know the man or rather his mouth. Don't forget his hands, his cock, his ability to torment me for seven weeks, and four days. But who's counting!_

"Me?" I can't find the words to admit this is the guy from the club. Back in June, I'd told Jose that I met someone—more than met. That I'd had a relapse into my old ways. He didn't crucify me—like the excellent friend he is—but if he finds out…that guy was—is a congressman…holy crap! What will Jose think? He's gone to all this trouble.

"Hello?" he says, lowering the music.

Steeling my features, I can't dive into the pool of my shame at having lost my head in a dark hall. Instead of coming out with my dirty little secret, I seal my lips, refusing to divulge the truth. For weeks, I was clueless who that guy from the club was who manhandled me, but now I know. This gig is for _Senator_ Christian Grey.

A.K.A. World's most incredible kisser.

My nightmare.

An unforgettable mistake.

"No. No. Of course, I don't know him!" It was true. I didn't actually know the senator. He was a drive-by suck my lips off kiss…the guy I almost had the craziest, hottest sex with in my life. Minus the sex!

"Great. Then take a look." He fishes out a magazine as he drives.

Now it all makes sense. Why he seemed so familiar. I stare at the cover and mutter, "He's that politician featured on the cover of Rolling Stone last spring."

"The very same brilliant hottie. Shit, if he was gay, I'd go intern for him."

"Okay Einstein, why would one of the _hottest_ Senators want me on his team. He's a front runner, and probably has scads of interns—_cough_ chicks—lined up to do his bidding. This seems like a _mistake_." The word pulsates inside my mouth and I recall what it was like to kiss Senator Grey pushed up against a wall with his fingers fisting my hair.

Jose shakes his head. "The good Senator isn't like that. Grey is strictly business. So much, he just sent his team packing. This player is the real deal. Not only is he killer in the looks department, he's a Harvard graduate, and the lowdown is the White House is fast-tracking him. And you've connections from working on the Gazette that he can use. Like you—before you towed the line at B.C., Grey was a little bit of a rebel rouser and stepped on some toes during law school."

"And _Mr. Pretty Face_ needs my help?" I narrow my eyes at him.

"Absolutely! Independents straddling the fence are prime targets. A camp you've got an in with, and one I put out feelers to—they're also waiting for you call. All you need to do is set the wheels in motion. Get him a student talk on campus."

"You mean like what Clinton pulled off? Are you on medication?" It was true that I had a cache of connects from an internship I'd done at Harvard, writing a column for the Gazette, but I wasn't into politics. "What's so special about him…aside from being gorgeous, popular, privileged."

"That pretty face has got presidential candidate written all over his political agenda. And not just his. There's talk coming from the Veep's office. She's running next year. Looking for her own Veep, and there's a huge betting pool at the _Post_ that Grey will be her running mate."

_So the man with panty-dropping looks any male model would kill for is more than a pretty face._ I scan the application with his photograph and motto. '_Get committed.'_ Whoa, that sounds like a double entendre. As I stare at the senator's face, the skin over my body tightens. So much, a flash of heat doesn't just creep up my neck—it flares. Can that, I tell myself. _Stop acting ridiculous._

Refocusing, I read the possible staff positions available on the committees Grey chairs. A slew. Everything from war reform to the environment, education, and foreign trade. Jose has talked about getting me to D.C. as a Capitol Hill climbing fool nonstop during the summer. My last year at Boston College, and I've done my stint of resume padding internships already. "Another tuck-n-roll, and for Mr. Popularity. I don't know. You do realize I'm still in school."

"Shut your pie hole. You've got enough credits to graduate and this will help you. Get your feet wet and then you can pick and choose where you want to be, come August. Need I remind you for the umpteenth time, it's time to cut bait and run. Grace and Stan Stillman are just waiting to get their hooks in you. Are you going to let them?"

"Fuck that noise! I'm not accepting my grandparents' help. How can you even kid about that shit?"

"Because if you don't have a plan in place, they'll turn you into Monica and Janice. Is that what you want?"

"My cousins are idiots." I shake my head, thinking about my family's ability to put a strangle hold on my career choices. Being connected to the Steeles and the Stillmans is a fulltime task of warding them off. Overbearing brutes had nothing on Gran and Pops in how they tried to commandeer everyone's future. After entering Boston College, I'd sidestepped their entrapping attempt to tell me what to do and when to do it.

Unlike my two cousins currently ensconced in Midtown banking. It wasn't that they were vapid—they were brainiacs for all their suck-up ways. But categorically, they lacked spine to chart their own course by falling into the fold. That fold being my grandmother's archaic view of life as the Stillman matriarch along with her ability to meddle 24/7, and now my cousins were junior execs on Fifth Avenue with a choke collar around their necks.

I shake the envelope like it's the enemy. "And how is this any different? Instead of Gran's meddling, I'll be beholden to yours."

"Shush. I listen to what you say when you talk about hightailing it out her here when you graduation. Someplace fun and exciting—someplace happening. You can't argue that D.C. isn't just up your alley. I get nothing in return except you near me."

"Christ on a cracker," I hiss. "I'm not a political junkie like you!"

"_Anna,_ c'mon," he softens his voice. "You pretend not to like politics because of your grandparents but you do have an opinion. Why not learn what the hell goes on behind the scenes—isn't that your thing? Don't let your pride get in the way."

He's playing dirty. Using his nickname for me that comes out soft and purring. God, how many times did I hear "Anna" in high school. A reminder I don't need, tagging back to some of my high flying days where I was one hot mess of _Anna on a roll. _Rebellious with razor sharp 'R' before graduating high school and I'd been close to stumbling into several dens of iniquity and catastrophe. Without asking, my grandparents stepped in and got me accepted to Boston College, nixing my dream to attend UCLA. Far, far away from here.

One call and my applications to UCLA, along with a slew of other schools were denied or waitlisted. Without a choice, I stayed in New England and vowed never again. Since entering BC, I got serious, taming my partying ways with one goal of graduating and leaving Bean Town. Yet going polar into nerds' ville has been a trip into the land of oh-so-boring, and it's the end of summer.

The end of my little freelance grind at the Globe as a reporter, and I'm so cagey that I actually am looking forward to the start of classes next month. But a backstage pass, a ticket to the behind the scenes…I'm not convinced. Skeptically, I shrug. "I don't know. You're really over-the-top on this one."

"Precisely. And it's a good thing. What have you got to lose?" He looks over at me, quirking his eyebrow, and then abruptly ruffles my hair.

Besides my mind—but, he's got a point.

Groaning, I roll my eyes at him and exhale. "Fine. I'll think about. Operative word: think." I read through the application and yeah, Jose's recreated my college experience, and then I read the references he's listed. Grace and Stan Stillman. Patrick Steele. "Name drop much? You're nuts to put _them_ down. What if Grey's office calls my grandmother?"

"It's not crazy to mention your family. Besides, look at the telephone numbers."

I read the numbers and although I don't recall my stepfather, Patrick's number off the top of my head, the one listed for my grandparents is— "You listed your telephone number. Are you insane?"

"Not in the least. I'm leveling the playing field. If Nora calls, I've got you covered and your family will be none the wiser."

"And for Pat? Whose number is this?"

"Roderick's. He's ready."

"Your brother is going to pretend to be Patrick Steele?" His brother was a Marine and just returned from active duty with a case of PTSD so bad he was in rehab.

"He's good with it. Right now, Rod's doing his program, so he's got the time. It'll give him something to do other than sit around the V.A., smoke pot, and do group therapy."

"This smells of all kinds of crazy," I say, shoving the application back into the envelope.

"And? Point?"

"So it's worked in your favor. I'm a little leery about mine. Luck I mean."

"An opportunity has nothing to do with luck! It's about working your connections. You've got an untapped skill!"

"Oh yeah and what's that?"

"Charisma. When you choose to use it! God, do you know how many people would kill to have your looks, your connections, and that elegant charm that you were born with?"

I inhale. "It feels more like a curse, if you want to know the truth."

"Fuck, Ana. Don't squander what you've got. I've work my tail off to get where I am. We could be closer and I wouldn't have to keep coming back here to check up on you!"

"I hear what you're saying." I grimace, looking at my friend whose always been here when I need him but this is a dilemma and obviously, he doesn't know how bad.

Down in D.C., Jose has worked a gig for the last few years as a hotshot photographer and diving into big time journalism. And it's true, he'd be free of babysitting me—able to devote more time to his career. Yet unconvinced that I can dive headfirst into a Christian Grey internship, I open the browser on my cell. Since I'm not about to tell Jose my secret, I'll need some ammunition to argue my case, and start to google the senator with hot rough lips and demanding hands.

For hours we discuss D.C., Hill internships, his experiences being in close quarters with congress…everything except what I'm not telling him—I basically let the good Senator feel me up against a wall.

Exasperated and not able to out argue Jose, I ask, "How often would I have to see him…Christian Grey?"

He presses his fingers to his forehead." I don't know. Depends on if you're in his inner circle. Given this is a short gig, I doubt much. When he calls a meeting but there are scads of interns plus all the staff around. I wouldn't sweat it. Besides, you all people have years of hanging with powerful men. What's running through your head?"

"Nothing!" I say, swinging my face forward, and wondering what the hell he's about to drag me into as we pull up in front of my grandparents' house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ MORE TO COME!

Hey. Now I need your help.

THIS IS PART OF THE CHAPTER ON WHO THE HELL IS ANA? Does this work?

You can see how totally screwed up we're going to go! But before we get to meet Gran and Pop, I want to find out... does this blow?

Thank you for writing and letting me know what you like. What you want more of. I promise, this version is HAAAAWWWTTTT!

More coming real soon. xox


	4. It's As Easy as a FINGER of SCOTCH

GRAN'S 'COOKOUT' is anything but hotdogs and hamburgers. Waiters wearing white gloves circulate, carrying trays of champagne splits with plastic funnels, tumblers of what I guess to be Scotch, and margaritas given the sloshing neon liquid and salted rims.

Gran comes over, arms raised and I press my cheek to her smooth face, inhaling L'Air du Temps. She takes hold of my arm and steps back, "Ana, let me look at you. All grown up! I don't see your mother."

Ah. Let the games being. An innocent statement, but what she's really doing is assessing me, acquiring ammunition for later when she quietly addresses a list of concerns I'm so certain she possesses. The list gets longer and longer the closer I am to graduating. She's ready to launch and all I have to do is acquiesce, letting her and my grandfather make a _few calls_. Not gonna happen.

"Mom is flying to Seattle. Last minute. But, how are you?" My best line of defense is always to pop the first question. Steer the conversation, charting the direction. Journalism 101, baby.

She releases me and smiles pleasantly. "Oh you know. It's the end of the season and I always get a little sad. We're closing the house next week…"And here it comes. The invitation for brunch or lunch. "I'd like you to come down for lunch next week."

Bingo! My move. I don't answer her. "You remember Jose?" I ask on redirect.

"Hello, Mrs. Stillman. Great party. The clams are delicious," He replies amicably. Jose's so smooth and why not. He comes into contact with every type of political and business big wigs…Christ, maybe he's got a point of getting the hell out of Dodge.

"Thank you," Gran replies and pauses, giving him her little stare. She believes that Jose and I are secretly dating, and secrets don't sit well with my grandmother unless they're hers.

"Where's Aunt Gertie? I saw her heading upstairs. Is she all right?" I ask to off-balance Gran, knowing full-well that Gertrude is inside, more than likely banging the hell out of one of the wait staff as she does every year. Aunt Gertie's libido is the bane of my grandparents' Nantucket colony life. Each summer, a huge chunk of change is exchanged along with whispered messages from their attorneys in settling house staff complaints and a scathing subject.

"Oh you know Gertrude, doesn't' like the sun or the heat," Gran replies, casting a worried look toward the upper balcony.

"Princess," Pop calls out, approaching our huddle with a drink in hand as he smiles and waves to the guests around us. The ice from my grandfather's glass tinkles and he motions to a waiter for a refill. Hugging me, he laughs out a rumble as I'm surrounded by his spicy aftershave and the whiskers of his waxed handlebar mustache tickling my cheek. I can smell he's well into his third bourbon and coke. At least. Pulling away from me, he glances over to Gran. "Grace, the Steeles just arrived."

I stiffen at the mention of my stepdad's family, but Gran's face lights up and she laughs—or snickers really. "Stan, I'll go greet them and pave the way. Please join us in two minutes. Two minutes, my good man," she repeats her direction.

"Yes, Commandant." Pop salutes her and winks at me.

"Ana, come find me in a bit. We need to talk." She gives me her semi-stern grandmother face, then squeezes my arm, and she's off.

I exchange looks with Jose as the waiter brings him a beer and mentally roll my eyes as Grans scurries away. Christ, what has she got up sleeve?

"Having a good time?" Pop inquiries, taking out a handkerchief, then wipes the beads of sweat off his face and down his neck. "It's hotter than last year. El Nino…am I right?"

"Yes and yes," I reply.

"Mr. Stillman." Jose smiles as he shakes Pop's hand. "Get any fishing in this year?"

My grandfather looks over at Jose thoughtfully and then frowns. "Not a bite. Well, not anything worth remembering."

"There's always next year," Jose concedes, holding his beer to his lips.

Pop twirls the ice in his glass. "That there is," he agrees vaguely and pats my arm. "I'd better get going on my mission. Can't keep your grandmother waiting. Someone will want to stop and chat as I make my way. You know how it is?" For once, I see a glimmer of dissatisfaction in my grandfather's eyes. Or maybe it's just the heat. His skin is red and he's sweating…profusely.

"Are you feeling all right?" I ask suddenly.

"Right as rain. Except for this blasted heatwave." He tweaks my ear and raises an eyebrow. "Your cousins are here. Go over and talk to them. Let them tell you about their recent moves and wedding bell news. All directions. You're graduating and need to start thinking about a career path as well."

My stomach twists. My cousins…the ones who have fallen in line. Earning six figures working at Citibank. The same ones who live in Midtown and one is engaged to some hard-hitting CEO with a rock the size of boulder on her finger.

Nice, charming, well-ordered lives.

I could hurl.

As I scan the crowd and my gaze hits upon _a cousin_. Not the exact one Pop referred to. Talk about the blackest of sheep. Colin. He's more leech than sheep.

"Sure thing," I say, nodding my head and all the while I'm thinking nope. Midtown plastic cousins or parasitic cousin—they're all a no-go. I could rock the boat and point that out, but why? I'm ready to dive into bay beyond the stone seawall. Strip naked and swim so far, so fast as to be free of this charmed and caged life everyone here leads.

Pop disappears in the throng of vanilla-colored people and I turn to Jose, exasperation souring my tongue. He has his beer tipped back, and empties it. He's no wisp of man, standing six foot with a muscular body, tattooed arms that run from his wrists to the edge of his white polo, and plenty of girls around us, give him the eye in that _we can tell you're gay but hot_. Like maybe in their bed, he might just decide to bat for the other team.

"What are you drinking?" He pushes a wayward stand behind my ear as only he can do when I'm steaming, not from the heat but being around my family for more than six minutes.

"Not enough," I reply when I snag a waiter. "Pardon me."

Jose gives him his order. "Heineken and she'll have…"

I look down at the waiter's tray, surveying my choices. What the hell? I lift a tumbler and sniff. "This is fine."

The waiter bows and Jose shakes his head. "Why do you care what anyone here thinks? You're eyes keep ogling the champagne."

"Because," I say, "I refuse to fit in!" Then I lift my glass right, and smile. I've never had the pleasure of Scotch before. Plenty of the men are drinking it, so I knock back a gulp…that tastes like lighter fluid in my book. Oh shit! I clasp my hand over my lips. What the hell did I just suck into my mouth? I shiver as the liquor sits idly on my tongue.

"What's wrong?" Jose asks, eyeing me with concern. "Are you going to be sick?"

Okay, either I can spit this shit out or down it. My gaze flashes around the party, all the pretty, pretty people that talk genteelly with their summer whites and boat shoes on. Crap, spitting out the Scotch is a faux-pas to the extreme, and I forcibly make my throat muscles work. But fuck! Swallowing is no better and I gasp, then start to hack as Jose claps me on the back. With tears in my eyes, I follow up with, "No. I'm pretty pissed and want another of those!"

TWO HOURS later, I'm scrounging through my purse, blindly looking for my keys, then I remember Jose has them. I've done my duty and stayed the perfunctory time period Mom requested, and I as meander, weaving around people without making eye contact, my sandals slap across the patio pavers until I see Jose talking to a tall man wearing tight T-shirt. Both laugh, their heads bowed together for a second. When I get closer, I recognize him as one of the executives from Manhattan…some high-powered attorney I believe, and the more my memory starts to reconnect, I also recall said attorney has a wife and kids.

Both guys glance at me and then exchange a look between them—protracted and I understand. Immediately. I smile at Jose. He's found a hook-up and in my giddy-I'm-leaving state, I semi-shout his name to grab his attention.

"Ana, nice seeing you again. Christ, it's been a while," tall-blond-and-married attorney replies.

I can't recall his name, but I reach my hand out, squeeze his arm. "Same. Sorry to greet and run, but I'm heading off calamity."

"No problem," he replies.

I smile at both of them and then focus my eyes on Jose. "So, are you up for leaving?"

"More than ready. Mitch?" Jose says and grins over at his new friend.

Now, I shift my focus directly to Jose, trying to catch his eye and nonverbally ask if Mitch is coming with us, but my BFF's so hung up on the blond hunk in front of him, he ignores my intense stare.

"Need a lift back to the city?" I ask Mitch, taking the 'bull' by the horns.

Jose's eyes widen and he shakes his head, leaning next to my ear and whispers, "I'm riding back with him."

"You're not seri—"

He jerks my arm, squeezing, and I want to laugh and ask him if he's bonkers, but he gives me I'll-kill-you-in-your-sleep stare to silence my unwelcomed imitation of a dumbass. Stiffening, I feel a tendril of something foreign tighten around my throat—and wonder what's come over me. I don't want him to leave with Mitch.

Am I jealous of Jose?

Of the blond hunk?

Of them together? In a bed?

Fuck, I think am.

"Absolutely ready. After you," Mitch pronounces and his smile widens gregariously. He sets his drink down, and I start to trek toward the front of the house.

I want to bolt away and I hate feeling like this. In lieu of leaving through the gargantuan downstairs where I'm sure Gran is holding court in the living room by this time, I head for the side.

"Wait up, Ana," Jose says, and I realize, I'm practically fleeing like my feet are on fire.

I slow my gallop, stepping onto the grass, and take a breath, glancing over my shoulder, and our eyes meet. I force a smile to my lips for Jose's benefit when he and his friend join me.

"Chica?" Jose comes up to me, his eyes wide with concern.

My stomach pitches. I'm acting selfishly. "You know how it is…seeing the exit. I can't leave fast enough."

"Then call Nora," he whispers and steps back next to Mitch. "Okay?"

I inhale gazing into his dark eyes. "I'm thinking…remember. I need to do some research."

We walk around the side of Gran's home, toward the garden entrance. Together we stride over the pavers, in between the manicured lawn, and neatly trimmed hedges. I walk silently as Jose and Mitch whisper. Passing through the stone gate flanked by their low chatter and secret laughs, I feel alone and wrap my arms around my middle.

I follow the trail until we come to the circular drive, trying not to home in on their conversation but all the while, I can't wait to escape being the third wheel. Once outside and facing the winding row of car upon car down the driveway, I shrug. "Hey, I'm going to go get my own ride. The queue is too long."

There are several other couples waiting along the front steps for the two valets huffing it back and forth.

Jose places his hand on my shoulder. "You okay to drive?"

My cheeks feel numb as I try to keep up the pretense of smiling. I assess my level of intoxication—not too bad. "Yeah. I'm fine, just hot. Pop is right about the heat."

His brow creases. "I can always ride back—"

"No," I whisper. Jose has always been there for me. "Go have some fun. Lots and lots of screaming, hair-pulling fun. You deserve it. No excuses. Call me tomorrow."

Both men give me that surprised expression as if their connection were covert—which to someone like myself, who has had to learn to read nonverbals in assessing my sources as a writer, I'm all eyes when it comes to seeing below the surface.

"Catch you tomorrow. We'll talk strategy on getting you intimately hooked up in D.C." Jose says with a wink. We hug, kiss, saying another bye.

Alone, I walk to my car, scanning the night sky and wonder where's my doorway to change. Glancing back over my shoulder as I approach my driver's door, Jose's laughing again with his new friend. New connection. Christ, that's a lesson worth learning. _New connection. New possibilities_.

I level my shoulders and think, what the hell. Maybe a little Hill climbing in D.C. is just the ticket. Tomorrow, I'm going to call Nora and see what's the deal with Senator Christian Grey and his unforgettable… persona.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~more to come. Next up Christian rocks the stage.


	5. The ROAD TO HELL

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR STAYING WITH THIS SUPER HOT STORY. We're gonna ramp this mother up! Remember, I'm giving you both Christian and Ana's sides for this the next few chapters. If this isn't you bag, then read fully advised.

AND PLEASE, TELL ME WHAT WORKS. Remember two people will focus on different elements and their recall will be tainted. I'm playing with that element. It's intentional.

So without further ado…

The Road to Hell … starts an intern with killer legs

and a mouth that won't quit.

SENATOR CHRISTIAN GREY.

"I'm running late. Where's— what's the kid's name?" I bark into my phone, chewing off my assistant's ear, ready to can this idea of taking on an intern this late in the game. "Logan arrivals are a madhouse. I don't see her."

Grabbing my luggage off the conveyor belt in a cramped corner, I'm two clicks past calm and collect.

"Yeah, not surprising. There's a tech convention that hit Boston today," Nora replies unfazed. "The latest iPhone just got released."

"What's she look like—the intern?"

"Scrap that plan," Nora informs me in her no-nonsense voice. "You'll connect with Miss Steele outside. Hold on…she just sent a text. She's outside the terminal, waiting for you at the curb. Black Ford Bronco."

I watch a pair of legs walk by attached to the kind of shoes that whisper _follow and fuck me_. The woman turns as if sensing my unrelenting stare and gives me a look over her hipster glasses, a silent promise of something dark and forbidden. Our gazes intertwine—hers knifes my brain, spreading fire that resonates in my core. The vixen in heels breaks eye-contact abruptly and my dick twitches, harder as I take in the rear package. Longer than hell legs and a tight ass, but decisively it's the woman's stalking gait away that has me hypnotized. Intrigued, I want her to look back—hell, come back. For a beat, I watch her, relishing the focused sway of killer legs and hips in a synchronized catwalk stomp. Then she's gone—swallowed by the swarming throng.

"Christian Grey, did you hear me?" Nora's grating voice reminds me I've got a cell in my hand.

"What…fine." I switch gears, well-accustomed to schedule flips and flops, and head toward the main exit. The revolving door comes into view and I'm back on track. "As long as this is the final stop. Any other changes I need to know about?"

Nora laughs. "Christian, you sound grouchy."

"I am. That last stop in bumfuck Egypt ran way over our timeline and taxed our budget. Sorely."

"Cheer up. After the coffee house talk, you'll be at your hotel no later than nine. Get some rest. You've got a full day tomorrow and it's jam-packed."

"How refreshing," I snort, tugging on the leather strap of my carry-on and not thrilled by a stop before I hit the hotel bar. "So Intel on the MIA intern? Shit. Just what I need."

"Hey, you're the one who dismissed your entire team two days early, so please, don't go there."

"For the record. You're the one who twisted my arm to take Miss Steele under my wing. I thought we had coverage. Apparently we both suck at stellar decisions."

"Don't be cute. She's your ride tonight and there's bonus points attached to her. The operative word: payback."

"That's a _word_ we don't say aloud and yet you have. You're starting to scare me, Nora."

"Boss, no one scares you and that's the nutshell problem. Besides, how much trouble can one intern be? She's a double-play in accruing favors from some heavy hitters. Did I mention she has ties to the Stillmans of Chicago and Midtown? Need I remind you, doing the Steele clan a solid is amassing some serious cross-party power."

"Thanks for the recap. Now, I'm seriously considering cutting her loose."

"It's only for a month."

"Only?" I echo, pondering how a girl related not only to the Kennedys, but also the Stillman older-than-dirt banking family will work out. Probably the epitome of a dynasty princess and more than likely will show up with her own entourage in all its giggling, glitter glory. Who hasn't seen those monogrammed sorority sisters flouncing around on campuses? I for one have always avoided those girls like the plague—except during a campaign for reelection when I'm hacking off parts of me, selling my soul, piece-by-piece.

"Less really. Twenty-eight days. Not an eternity," Nora is quick to reiterate.

"Let's hope none, for your sake. Anything else you're trying to sneak in on me—last minute."

"As a matter of fact, yes. You requested face time with the Boston Independents at Harvard—your old Alma Mater is hosting a campus talk for yours truly. Stamp that request as done!"

"Are you pulling my chain?" For months, my office has repeatedly sought to nail down a face-to-face with the Ivy League independents in hopes of snagging some swing voters to jump ship, but they'd put me off—or rather, Dean Nolan, my old advisor had shut the crimson doors in my face.

"Nope. Believe it or not, your new intern was the one with the connections. It's her you need to thank."

I smirk. "Yeah, right."

"No joke and no other major changes besides your return to D.C. You'll head back on Thursday. But it's the same old grind for Bean Town. Teachers' union. A factory tour and lunch. This time it's in Easton. Professionals talk in the afternoon at Boston General. On to Harvard for the meatspace with students and faculty, and it's being recorded so don't admit to inhaling." She laughs nervously.

In the middle of the aisle, doesn't matter that I'm jostled on all sides, my focus narrows. I recognize a hiccup when it occurs in real time. "What have you done, Eleanor?"

"Err, I made a tiny adjustment. You're also doing a cocktail reception plus dinner at the Hyatt."

"Hold on, when did that get switched? That's the reason for a delay in my return. I'm off a day because of a goddamn dinner?"

"Christ, Christian, you're blazing a circuit through the northeast like a rock star. There are scads of last minute supporters with VIP ticket requests. New followers blew up our FB page not to mention continually jam the switchboard downstairs. We moved the venue to accommodate the swell to your fan club and it won't kill you to do one tiny cocktail party."

I start walking again, counting to five, and then reply, "Fine. What else?"

"Veep called and wants to set up a meeting. Sounds super important…?"

Marching silently through the crowded corridor, I hyper focus on the cocktail glad hand scheduled tomorrow night…at the Hyatt. Nora has the ability to squeeze blood from a rock if she smells possible voters for our campaign. Unfortunately, she also turns a blind eye to my campaign finances, and every event upgrade costs me and means in the _circle_ of my senate life, I'll be signing the receipt in blood—political promises—same thing. Feeling this latest squeeze, I grit my teeth and reply, "Uh, call her back, and see what she wants. Everything from her office comes with a price tag."

"No worries. I'll field and let ya know. You fly out Thursday morning after a quickie breakfast press conference. Trust me, you could do this last stop in your sleep."

"Sleep. A commodity better enjoyed back home. I'll be in touch," I mutter, tucking my cell into my suit pocket, envisioning my empty house. Worse my empty bed—empty and zero action, but it beats hotel hopping.

"Hello, Senator Grey." The attractive and familiar woman before me smiles, holding out her hand. "I enjoyed your speech last week in Connecticut. Are you just arriving?"

"Ah, Mrs. Henderson," I nod, recalling her and her husband, and release her hand—the one with the platinum ice rink—but she doesn't release mine.

"Call me, Abby. Please."

"Good to see you again, _Abby_."

"If you have some time, I have an apartment. We could have dinner. Drinks. Get to know each other. My place isn't far and I have a limo."

Direct.

Novel.

But no way.

"I'm sorry, but I'm heading for a talk and have a late night meeting in the city. Driver is right outside." Abby's husband—a media mogul—is a new supporter, yet this play is far from new. Matter of fuck, it's getting old. But shit, I'm in the game and it's too late to get out in midstream. I give her a mild quirk of my lips, the kind that imbues intimacy and trust—thank you executive coaching. Holding her hand, I do the pump-n-pull, tugging her in slightly to me, letting my gaze rove down her body as if I'm actually considering her offer. I'm not; truthfully I'm wondering if the mini bar at the hotel is stocked with aged Scotch. Damn, I need a drink but for now, look back into this woman's eyes. "I'll be thinking of you. Can I drop you a line?"

Her lips drift open, and she stares up at me. This is the kind of woman I could bang and walk away from and not miss a step, or my next mundane thought. Abby is a drive-by screw and I've met my share. Smart. Beautiful. Rich. And top of the list, she doesn't do _strings_. Just wants get laid in all her vanilla, creampuff existence. I have crossed paths with hundreds. Thousands. Not that I fall into bed with many; well not any anymore. Her story doesn't get me hot or horny but Abby doesn't need to know that dirty detail.

I bite my lip and she lets go a low gasp as if on cue. "Absolutely. Anything you want. Any time. I have a private jet."

"I'll be in touch. Sound good." Truthfully, I'll never be in touch except in mailers, invitations to support a political function, my next PR election buzz—all via volunteer campaign staffers. Look, I'm not cold—I'm a realist and yeah, a tad manipulative, but fuck I'm a politician for crying out loud with a swelling fiscal budget and auditors crawling up my ass. No pretense here. Call a calculating spade a spade—I'm not arguing.

But that's where I stop with the 'door open policy' and an admittance that I am what I am. Forget Washington. Sure, I'm a wolf, but in fact, I'm worse. I'm a dirty, dirty-minded prick that has nothing to do with D.C. If Abby or any like her kind stepped foot number one in my bedroom aka dungeon, they'd scream bloody murder. If she ever got wind of the type of kink I'm into, she'd walk—no she'd sprint to the nearest exit.

Abby grins as she replies, "I'll be waiting."

"Later," I say, and give her a wink. Turning on my heel, I have an urge to take a bow as I imagine someone shouting, "Cut!" _And that's how this campaign trail game is played, ladies and gents._ Walking away, I slip on my sunglasses, and shake my cynical—correction—my realist head.

Outside on the curb, a Black Bronco idles, and leaning against the hood, the driver is texting nonstop. I clear my throat, less than impressed.

He glances up, and immediately his brows draw together. "Senator Grey?" he asks, losing his phone into his pants pocket.

"Last time I checked."

The driver darts to my side, looking like he belongs in a rock band more than working as a driver and I figure Nora's plans changed—the intern is still MIA. His nametag reads "Jon" but it's his tattooed arms that catch and hold my gaze.

"Just leave the luggage," he says.

"You're my ride to the coffee house and hotel?" I ask tersely, handing him my bag.

"Yeah and all day tomorrow. Here let me get that." Bending forward, he almost bumps into me, but I slid to the left.

"No problem. I can get my own door. You worry about getting me to the next two stops and we'll be square."

"Sure. I'm down with that."

Loosening my tie, I reach for the door handle as he pops the tailgate. Somewhere close by a truck back fires. I clench my jaw, tightening my grip on the door, and remind myself, I'm not on any political hit list. Not yet. I open the car door, scanning the street and taking in the people scurrying on the sidewalk as my neck muscles knot. Too much Starbucks. I exhale and lower into the interior of the backseat then stop. I stare across the padded leather seat at a woman who meets my gaze with an arched brow. Mutely, I question who she—

_Holy hell._

It's the pair of legs from the airport corridor.

_Shoes and_ _all_.

But fuck me running, I know this girl…know those incredible lips.

"Good evening, Senator Grey. Sorry to be running late. Rental car mix-up. The Apple convention is great for Boston but the city is slammed. But good news. We have a car and a driver. A volunteer. I just let Nora know." She leans forward, wetting a pair of full pink lips, and proffers not her hand but an envelope. "Your plane ticket. Do you want it? Or shall I hold on to it? I have everything that Mrs. Swan sent for tomorrow's itinerary."

_Mrs. Swan?_ Oh yeah. Nora's new married surname. "Right," I reply, my brain uncharacteristically blitzing as I stare over the rim of my sunglasses.

The woman leans forward and in the early evening light with her blond hair back, wearing a curve hugging suit, and hiding behind glasses—she a contained version of the untamed girl from the club. Hardly old enough to be an intern—nothing like the other ones on the Hill.

"Senator?" she inquires, as crystal blue ice eyes lock onto my gaze.

The full memory of that night in the hall comes crashing into my awareness like a meteorite. Is this plausible—she's the minx from the club? The one I watched like a rabid jackal then kissed up against a wall. In public! I'd been a trigger hair away from fucking this girl after drying humping and palming her ass and tits.

Christ… I want to pick up where we left off.

This firecracker better not be my new intern. I can smell a screaming hardcore lay a mile away, and she has all the makings that have my dick thickening and my blood boiling.

I couldn't forget her for weeks. For days after that night, I'd woken up with my cock harder than a plank of wood. Forced to jack off hard and rough to cut through the wall of lust in wanting her. I hungered to spank her. Mark her. Fuck her senseless. There was…is something…a shade too innocent about her.

Enough to keep me in check that night…but I don't know about today.

I'm not accustomed to meeting potential lays anywhere except through online covert dating hookups or at my club. Never in all my Dom days did one just materialize before my eyes. Twice. And to think I'm sitting here with her again. I wonder if she's playing me or am I becoming paranoid.

"I'll take it," I say hoarsely.

Even though it was an intern's chore to keep track of this type of nonsense, this girl wasn't going to last long. At least, no longer than it took to straighten out this mess.

"And you are…" I scramble—what the hell had Nora said? "Miss Steele?"

"_Ms_. Steele," she replies and smiles, still holding out the envelope.

I go to take it but instead, bat it out of her hand for fuck's sake. Now, we both reach for it and end up colliding, our shoulders banging together.

"Okay. You go for it," I say, skimming my fingers down her smooth, firm calf to a pair of high heels no normal intern would wear. Ever.

Ms. Steele comes up with the envelope, victoriously holding it between us. Our faces are inches apart. So close I can see that behind those black-framed glasses she wears, her eyes are the color of a glacier pool. So unearthly, a jolt of electricity shoots through me just by looking into her translucent eyes. The same as the first time we kissed and it had taken weeks to put aside the connection I'd felt that night.

"Here you go, _Sir_."

_Sir?_ This one word spilling from her lips has my dick standing up and at full attention. If she by chance utters _Master_, I'll have her face down over the back seat, piles of her hair in my fists, while I fuck her like she's never been fucked before. Either she's playing me like a pro, or she is about to get banged senseless right before she's shown the door. I have to ask her about our lasting… _meeting_.

It's too easy to tap into this seismic draw of hers. Too easy to recall the feel of her unforgettable lips, her tits, and those legs—I'd recognize her even if she wore a mask—

"Where in the hell did you come from?" I demand, taking the envelope from her hand.

_Slick—a real way with the words, Christian_.

The question rips from my mouth as I simultaneously calculate the distance to the hotel and how long it will take to throw her down on the seat, tear off her panties, and slam my cock into her.

Her brows knit. "I was born in Phoenix. Then I moved to California—San Diego. Lived in Chicago and Atlanta briefly." Her voice comes out soft while she motions vaguely out the window with the envelope. "But my mom remarried and we moved to Boston when I was five. I've lived all over the U.S. I guess I'm as American as apple pie."

"No!" I shake my head, swallowing what feels like a gallon of molten lust, and shift back on the seat, trying to cover the state of lead pipe dick.

"No?" she sweetly echoes me, lifting her brow.

_Is she challenging me?_

Talk about shifting fucking gears. This girl has me seeing Technicolor Americana all right. Red—the color of my handprint on her ass. White—the color of the lingerie I'd dress her in and then rip off her body, and blue. The color of my balls 'cause none of that shit is going to happen.

She better know who she's calling front and center in our little charade, and this veil of innocence she tries to hide behind. Looking into her eyes, I can damn well see her version of innocence is tinged with something dark, and captivating. I want her and everything I put aside that night comes back, hitting me with the force of a natural disaster.

_What is it about her? _I've got to silence the blaring fuckable submissive alert she incites.

Slowly, I gather my loosely strewn brain cells and compel myself to speak intelligently. "I didn't mean your personal history. How did you procure the position as my intern? You've got family ties. Steele and Stillman. Democratic ties unless that changed in the last twenty minutes. And yet you signed up to intern with me? Even after we previously '_met_.'"

All of sudden the driver climbs in and announces with a wide grin, "All set."

I scowl, nodding curtly and he replies, "Uh… Sorry."

I return my focus back to Steele, meeting her expectant gaze.

"Oh, well it's not hard to understand," she replies, straightening and smoothing out the material of her dress over her lap.

I've got to dismantle why one girl has me rattled to the core. It's not her background—I've met too many trust fund princes to give a flying fuck.

"Try me." I slide my aviators to the top of my head and she tracks my movements like one of those long-haired cats my sister adores and I distrust.

Besides a pair of ride-me-hard pumps, the rest of her getup runs rather conservative—but on her comes off like some sexy pinup secretary I observe, now that I have working power over my brain.

Instead of answering, she bites her lip. The one I sucked and bit myself. Marshmallow-soft and just as sweet. Fuck, I want to taste her mouth again…as I thrust without mercy into her. We stare at each other for what feels like a year.

"Uhh…I'm not…" she stammers.

"You were going to say?" I prod her, all the while aware that my cock is in overreaction mode and for the life of me, I can't get that fucker to relax. _She's just a girl._ No matter how many times I repeat it, deep down something about her resonates. Eviscerating any attempt to disengage. Un. Fucking. Believable.

"Senator," she says and pauses, and I want to tell her don't. Don't call me that. I clench my jaw but remain silent.

"I think we both can agree, it was a one time thing. A _mistake_. Right?" she asks, looking me dead center in the eyes.

I stare at her like one of us has lost _her_ mind. I grind out, "Absolutely." She notches up her chin and I get, I've touched a nerve in mentioning her family. Interesting. "Tell me about yourself. I want to know…about you."

"Me?"

"You are the one applying to be my intern?" I soften my tone, wanting to reach out and tip up her face. "Please."

She looks down for a second and I'm captivated. What secrets does she hold?

"I'm not a democrat. I'm majoring in communications and in my last year at Boston College. This spot opened up and I decided get some fieldwork in before classes start again. Perhaps continue through the fall semester, if there's a position available. Nora said this was a short stint—and that's perfectly fine," Ms. Steele assures me.

"If you're serious about a career on the Hill, this requires total commitment .Won't that inhibit you graduating on time?" I rattle off more bullshit. I can't believe I just went back to sounding like a complete tight-ass.

"Actually, I'm ahead insofar as my graduate credits. Frankly, I haven't done anything like a Hill internship before…more along the lines of reporter posts in schools and papers around Boston. I've worked freelance, but I'd like to get involved in something with a broader scope. Cutting edge."

"The Capitol is that," I agree tensely, and follow up with another dipshit question. "Are you sure about a D.C. placement?"

"Nora said I had a choice. Either I do it during the fall when the regular internships begin, possibly with other congressional representatives, or now… And I decided why not. It's only a month."

"So you're fine that this isn't a complete internship then?" I ask, reminding myself to stop staring at her mouth. Besides her skill set of kissing like no other—the girl's got a mind-blistering style when she speaks. Perfect annunciation and the way the tip of her tongue dances across her lips, holds me spellbound—in another minute, she'll have me by the balls. I'd better figure out what she's after and end this internship to hell, before it starts…except out of my goddamn mouth springs, "Not that a trial run is a bad idea. Far from it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Next up Ana's side as we get closer to the hotel. Closer to… yeah.


	6. Licked by the FLAME

NOW we get to hear from Ana. Is she up for the task of 'getting committed' or is Senator Grey too much to handle? Only one way to find out and that's for her to step closer to the flame of her desire. Dueling POVs and now, Ana' s gonna have to get herself in gear.

Thank you for reading.

#seducingthesenator

SWIMMING IN A SEA OF LUST NEXT TO A WOLF

_Ten minutes ago._

HOLY GUACAMOLE! I'm so nervous, I begged José to do the driving tonight. Good thing. I saw—nearly ran into Grey inside the airport and almost ditched this whole idea. Now, I'm seated—more like caged—in the backseat of my car and José flashes me a peace sign.

My heart is about to burst out of my throat. Worse when Grey exits the airport and I close my eyes. _Please! Calm the hell down!_ I pray that I don't self-combust as I make myself take a deep, deep breathe.

_Inhale._

_Hold. _

_Slowly, release. _

José is talking to Grey—looks like there's no turning back. I return to holding my breath as the senator opens the car door and climbs inside. We're sitting next to each other and the air within the backseat seems to crackle as we stare at one another.

Fuck! Up close, the man is more gorgeous looking than before—his tousled thick hair has gotten a little longer, and there's a five o'clock shadow littering his square jaw. Over his sunglasses, it's affirmative—he's got that rock star persona glare and it's trained on me. He's the epitome of the bad boy grown up into a powerful politician.

My memory is spot-on. I wasn't delusional about him—it wasn't the alcohol playing tricks on my instincts in June. In short, Grey's a walking, talking piece of sex-flavored candy. He wears another tailored dark suit, this one like the last fails to hide the perfection of his sculpted body. One I remember all too well, using my hands to explore.

I can't stare slack-jawed and say my opening line. The one I've practiced for hours. "Good evening, Senator Grey. Sorry to be running late. Rental car mix-up. The Apple convention is great for Boston but the city is slammed. But good news. We have a car and a driver. A volunteer. I just let Nora know." I'll crumble if we touch, so instead of a handshake, I hold out the envelope. "Your plane ticket. Do you want it? Or shall I hold on to it? I have everything that Mrs. Swan sent for tomorrow's itinerary."

Silently, he gifts me with a heated stare for several heartbeats over the rim of his sunglasses. In the light, his eyes are the color of vintage glass. His brooding glare comes with the same intensity level as before, and just as cutting. The type that draws a girl in, inviting her to stop, drop, and return his hungry stare.

I'd like to remind myself: _Been there with Grey. Done that_!

I'd like to, but all reminders of him send me straight to crazyville. And him staring at me is of no help. It's like he sees right through me, and our nuclear powered exchange has heat flares bursting under my skin, sparks swirling in my veins, hot enough to curl my toes.

When I say stare, I mean the good senator really truly gives me a mind obliterating once over like WTF am I doing in his ride. I have the distinct impression that I should scoot to the door, open it, and get out. Does he remember me? I could be one in a long line of women he's kissed and now, he's reacting to the surprise of me—a new intern. _It could happen_…

Even though José says he doesn't do staffers—clearly the man does do someone. He reeks of molten sex appeal. Without saying a word to me, the senator's icy expression comes with a clenching jaw as he slams the car door shut.

"Senator?" Instinctively, I sit up straighter.

Crap! I'm still holding the ticket as we sit there with less than a foot of padded leather separating us. Why doesn't he just take the thing? I'm pinching the ticket so hard that my arm starts to shake.

The sound of my heartbeat floods my ears. Is this how a rabbit feels when facing a predator? Wish I could believe he isn't predacious, but tell that to the fine hairs all over my body on full alert. The way in which he lets his gaze skim lower, dropping away from my face, and tracing a path over my body, isn't helping. Grey doesn't just look at me over his glasses, he consumes me, and it's as if I can feel his perusal power up.

"Miss Steele?" he says, obviously troubled. When he speaks, gone is the iceman. His simmering glance touches my skin, and lights a line of fire. He calls me 'Miss' with his deep voice tinged with a Southern accent and immediately I correct him.

"_Ms_. Steele," I say, notching my chin upward, unable to curb my wayward need to contradict him_._ Definitely, something about this powerful man has me ready to debate each time he speaks in that smooth deep voice. _Not a good start, X._

I go to hand him his ticket, but I'm so nervous I drop the damn thing. We go for it at the same time and end up colliding shoulder-to-shoulder, close enough for me to get a whiff of his cologne. That scent commandeers my memory, and acts like a karate kick to my chest. His earthy fragrance ignites a hidden erotic yearning that screams to be set free. To say I vividly recall how over the edge he got me once, is the understatement of the year—my life.

_How can one kiss possess this much power?_

I fight to suppress the shiver moving across my nerve ending as my nipples spring into erect darts, aching for relief. Lust pools inside my core, a spring that has lain in wait and all it takes is seeing him again. I curl my fingers around the envelope—directing my last iota of inner strength to anchor my fast-dwindling self-control.

Except the man grabs my ankle, sending a jolt of racing awareness up my leg, that crash-lands in my clit. The touch of his fingers channels an onslaught of heavy aching lust, deep inside my body that has me to the edge of my seat. Literally. I'm so shocked—so turned on—I snatch up the envelope, almost smacking him in the face.

_Smooth X, real smooth._

Suddenly, Senator Grey decides to speak instead of staring holes in me and asks, "Where did you come from?"

Handing him his ticket, I give him a rundown of where I've lived not wanting to dive into my family history. But no, he directs our conversation otherwise—clearly he's the same as every other person who hears my last name, and proceeds to ask the pointed question of how I came to be a quasi-intern in his office. _Umm, because your staff assistant was captivated by my last name._ _Repeat after me, S-T-E-E-L-E._

José jumps in the driver's seat, looking between Grey and me. We both give him a slight nod and he gases the engine as we pull away from the curb. Tires mildly screech, and I try to keep my focus on Grey, rather than on José's driving skills in getting us to the coffee house. All I have to do is somehow prove to him what we did in June means nothing to me. _Not a thing_! It was a mistake—his term. And Christ, it isn't like I haven't spent enough time with powerful men. This should be simple but Grey won't stop staring at me, and my muscles begin quivering.

_Ana, just focus. You've done this a hundred times—same drill! _Nora said her boss has a tendency to act as a team of one and might decline my quasi-internship. Hell, at this rate, he might toss me out of the car while it's in motion. I hear José's pep talk streaming in my head. _Charm him_. Do whatever it takes to land my ass in the seat next to Grey on the plane come Thursday morning. I can't fail. Too much is riding on the line.

"Oh, well it's not hard to understand." I can't spew the truth, but maybe I should come clean and tell him, look I'm adopted. Get over the fascination. How I'd love to shout, sure, I'm a Steele in name, but I'm not part of any good ole boy clan!

And smack-dap in the middle of my mental upheaval, my world stops spinning.

_Holy Fuuuck!_

Grey lifts his sunglasses and our eyes connect. No more trading glances over the rim of his glasses. What he brings forth is a full-on-stare that cuts to the bone. I'm flabbergasted—and sit stunned—now it's my turn to stare back into his grey-green mesmerizing eyes just like what happened in the club. If this is what it means to be undergo a TKO, I understand the term in its entirety.

"…If you're serious about a career on the Hill, this requires total commitment," he says and I blink deep in a brain fog. "Are you available to work all types of hours? This isn't like a typical internship. You won't have a regular schedule. Not in my office."

"Actually, I'm ahead insofar as my graduate credits…" I nod, jabbering as he speaks but it's his eyes I'm focused on. I end up just saying, "Look…I'm fine with long hours."

His eyes trace lower on my body. Is he wondering whether or not I'm serious? Not some club hopping bunny.

Instead of thinking anything sane, I get the urge the only thing he and I should do is get naked. Am I crazy? I squirm on the padded leather, tamping down that thought bubble, while pulling at my shirt collar as a blast of heat billows up body.

Until he spouts, "Are you sure about a D.C. placement? This isn't an off the cuff decision. You just admitted that this was last minute. I don't need the headache of training you, only to have something else snag your attention and then you'll be gone. What I'm about is structured chaos and that requires absolute commitment. Operating by the seat of your pants, what's that going get you or me?"

_What the hell did this pompous prick just say? Did he just imply I'm a twit?_

I can't believe my mother-lovin ears. I laugh, but inside my heart is hammering and I'm oh so ready to flip him off. Valiantly I seek to recoup my IQ. _Should I remind him, that's what kissing him sure as fuck felt like. One minute he's lifting my dress and the next…see ya later gator._

No! Big no!

Foremost, I remind myself, I'm the one who needs to ingratiate myself to this man—not the other way around. He needs me like a third arm pit.

"What gives you the impression I'd jump ship. If you offer me a spot, I'll stay. Through _thin and thin_. I'm not looking for a cushy position. I'm here to learn and not afraid of hard work. A lot of it, if it's required. You ought to know that one, Senator Grey. Isn't it part of your platform and why so many people flock to your camp versus your opponent's? _Get committed_," I rattle off lines of bullshit and on my roll, I follow up with, "Let me assure you, Senator—I am!"

Well, that shut Grey up. I bet not too many people stand up to him. Not on the super ego trip he's on. Hired a powerful PR team—the one Obama used. I read plenty on the senator, besides José giving me dossier to study. Grey did his undergrad at Princeton. Went to law school at Harvard where he double majored in law and poly-sci. Played soccer—goalie. Worked in the D.A.'s office for six years; and then, he must've gotten the seven-year itch and went private—a top firm. He specialized in white-collar crime but offered pro bono to some high profile cases, giving him access to courting the press. And court he did. Family is from Atlanta. Old Southern family with bloodlines that extend for generations—like mine—and like me, he didn't fall in line. Christian Grey marches to his own drum—then and now.

We stare at each other for a protracted beat, the muscle along his jaw pulsing and when he speaks, his voice is low, hoarse, and makes me think of more mind-blowing sex. Or how'd he speak when he's close to coming. All my instincts don't just whisper, they scream back the fuck away. This dude isn't anything but trouble. He's a wolf in political trappings and the type of man a girl can't forget. _And after one kiss, this girl hasn't._

I'm jarred out of my mental ramblings, when he replies, "I didn't mean any disrespect."

Back to reality and I'm mortified to have gone off on a sexual tangent. We gaze at one another and I can't shake my impression of Grey. So blistering and far reaching, it's just like the research indicates—first impressions instantly formed, are hard to shake, and mine of him were galvanized the first time I opened my eyes and laid eyes on him. Now, seated next to him, this raw sexual chemistry he unleashes inside me expands and expands.

If I'm not careful, he's going to see that I'm nothing but a fan girl, someone he kissed, and solidify his impression of me as a mistake _and_ a ditz. Never mind D.C., I won't make it one night if I don't get serious and fast. And oh how my grandmother would love that…more ammunition to wrangle my future.

No way. _Okay, take a breath. I do and another._

"None taken," I reply coolly. My head back in the game.

"I don't recall getting your resume," he replies with a cutting stare.

He's over-the-top, I remind myself but at the moment, he's also the doorway to career connections independent of my family. It isn't immoral to be turned on by the man. Hell, he's walking sin, sex, and decadence. As long as I recognize the potential danger, then I can reel in my attraction, stow it, and do what needs to be done.

With my newfound sense of competence in place, I reply, "No? Well, I have a copy right here." I smile, bring my case to my lap, and flick the locks, noticing Grey's focus is directed to my fingers.

"Isn't it supposed to be A-S-S…What's the other 'S' stand for?" His question actually floors me. Should I admit my nickname after he's chastised me on being the anti-Christ of steadfast. Worse, after he's had his fingers caressing down the cheeks of my ass and crushing his cock in between as I was so mouthy almost begging him to fuck me in a dark hallway. _Big 'S,' small 'a' big 'S.' They're a play on Sass._

"Generally, yes. But this was a gift," I say. "My given name is Anastasia." Considering Grey, I rub my tongue piercing, a small nude ball against the roof of my mouth. Nope, better not relay the truth. He doesn't need to know my past preoccupation with partying hard.

Fumbling with my computer bag, I open it and lift a neatly stapled packet. Thank you obsessive-compulsive tendencies—something both José and I share. I have two complete copies of my Capitol Hill intern application, resume, and writing sample ready to go. Handing him one, I observe him from under my lashes as he reads over my answers, noting aloud with a smirk that my G.P.A. is 3.99. He rapidly scans the application, then switches to my resume and from what he remarks on, I follow where his interest detour. He comments on my running track and being president of the thespian club; but I can't tell if he thinks those are noteworthy or not. I feel like I'm sitting in front of my family, having my life picked apart.

"You act? On stage?"

"I've done my share of plays." I'm three snaps away from slapping that smug smile off his arresting face as he dissects me, getting the feeling that the less he knows about me personally, the better. The man isn't just panty-dropping gorgeous, he's so over-the-top confident, and then there's his goddamn arrogance that could choke a rhinoceros. Not helping when all I want to do is climb onto his lab, bind him with his tie, and tell him to just be quiet.

"Which was your favorite?"

His question shakes from my fantasy that is getting hotter and harder to stop imagining him minus his clothes. I think, why not. Just be honest—about my acting experience—not my gutter thoughts. "You Can't Take it With You."

He nods and replies. "Great one."

"You know of it? I mean really?"

"I do. There's lots going on stage…all at the same time. Like an orchestra—or jazz dissonance. Purposeful and reminds me of political tag-teaming. The House and Senate floor. About a family with hidden agendas and talking nonstop that sounds like buzzing. Don't you agree?"

It's true. He's not just agreeing to be socially appropriate. All the actors were on stage talking all at once. Focused pandemonium. I felt alive.

"What questions do you have? For me?" Something must have shifted. His tone isn't as antagonistic but still, he's doing that blistering staring thing.

I doubt he'll call my references, but even if he asks his assistant follow up further, I have those covered. Easy enough to slather on a few white lies. As a writer, I've already learned to say whatever it takes to get my foot in the door—same as José. And getting aboard the Christian Grey campaign train is no different. But I have to admit that Grey has me going. Sure each time he opens his egotistical mouth it's like he rubs me the right way. He's the ultimate risk in some ways. But that's just crazy talk—Senator Grey would never be interested in someone like me. The man could snap his political fingers and a bevy of women would materialize. But I'd be stupid to put aside that there's something highly enigmatic about him that has me melting like a sugar cube in hot water. There's more to his popularity and dark good looks…yeah, a hell of a lot more than what blazes across the media. A depth to him—or a wound—and it's that undercurrent within Grey that has me mystified. A paradox I want to solve.

I inhale sharply. "The war? Your thoughts on reform." One of his committees, and I rattle it off hoping to strike pay dirt. I'm against the war but doubt that truth would buy me a vote of his confidence. Not from a politician who has to support it.

"Don't let the war drag you under," he says. "That's off the record, of course. It's fucked up and no one is happy about it. But tell that to the oil companies. Make a wave and you'll be a one-hit wonder on at the Capitol. Gone and all too soon forgotten. Oh hell, that's not what someone with big dreams wants to hear. Is it?"

His candid response more than surprises me. "Believe it or not. Yes. It is," I say softly, watching how his eyes seem both open and tired. Then all too soon they're shuttered again.

"The truth has many sides and what you hear from me is one-sided. Perhaps, I'm not the best example of Hill veracity." And with that said, he lowers his gaze to my legs, and then he closes his eyes, shaking his head.

In this backseat, a second ago, he misplaced his political persona from being up on a pedestal, beyond reproach to very earthy. Sensually provocative. And in that instant, I hunger to let go—and trace the stubble over his jaw. Kiss his full pouty lips. _Ana! Focus!_

"I want to hear an insider's perception. Especially yours. I'm here to see what really goes on behind closed doors. What can I do to help?" I ask, refusing to let go of this potent part of him that, apparently he keeps sequestered.

"Depends on what you're looking for," he says, leaning his elbow on the door and pressing his temple as our eyes lock and a sharp jolt zings my ribcage.

My breath squeezes in my chest. Funny, I can't be the only one to see through him. I mean up close, his smooth veneer falls away, and I feel this crazy connection…like we've known each other for years.

"Connections," I say honestly. I'm no fool. He's got his own agenda and need I remind myself for the hundredth time, I've got mine. But for the moment, I sense I can trust him with my deepest, darkest secret, and that's a doorway that's dangerous.

_I can't trust him._

Or anyone.

Not if I'm going to pave my own way!

My thoughts scurry. Tumble. The ones I can't face myself. The ones that need to be kept cloistered—on lockdown. I should be telling José to stop the car. I should open the door, and sprint down the street. Far, far away from this man.

"You'll find plenty of connections. I've learned to pick and choose the committees where I can best be effective."

"That sounds very—"

"Political?" He laughs, cocking his eyebrow, and leans closer. "Welcome to the big leagues."

"I'm here to affect change!" I say resolutely—referring to what I need to conquer within myself.

"_Change?_ Is that what you're after?" He nods indulgently—his smile widens. "I think I've heard that one before."

"Oh right," I nod, swallowing my embarrassment, and realize how naïve I must sound. Quickly, I add, "And forge a path for when I graduate. Isn't that what all interns are after?"

My stomach twists.

He glances back at my application.

He's sees right through me.

I need to get away from him. Grey's right—he is my worst nightmare…a drug I'd sample and never get free from in this visceral push-n-pull I've got going on with him. I shift my attention to José and he's staring at me from the rearview mirror. I grimace, wanting to shout, this is so not happening! But José gives me a wink as if sensing I'm about to bolt.

Grey has me coming apart. _Okay, c'mon. Get your head together!_

I follow up with another question. "So, are you still heading up the action committee on the draft reform or did you relinquish your chair on that?" Obviously, war is controversial and a place he's feeling influx. Maybe if I focus on talking, my desire to climb onto his lap will dissolve, and I'll gain some distance. "You took the hill by storm on that one. Made the cover of Rolling Grey."

"There's a difference between actively engaged soldiers and draft reform. The draft was a hot button topic then. That was an ion ago. You're a Steele—aren't you keeping up with your family's interests?" His brow furrows and his condescending tone irritates the shit out of me.

I retort with a little too much emotion. "There's still a war raging."

"Ah thanks for the reminder. It's negotiating peace that we're focused on now. Rebuilding—our financial black hole. Effectively, the war is over." He regards me, reminding me again to control my emotions.

"I don't view it that way." I feel José's glare and I bet he's wondering what the heck is up with me. Seconds ago, I had the senator eating out my hand and now I'm butting heads with him.

"Pardon me, but hanging out in a gilded ivory tower, perhaps you're a little behind in real time politics. Anything and everything smelling of war reform—committees, interest groups, lobbyists—put a fork in them. That subject has got sleeper written all over it. With reelections coming up, there isn't much law rewritten. You might as well start learning what actually goes on. I hate to pop your idealistic che—" He pauses and actually rolls his eyes, apparently catching himself and then continues, "Bubble."

"Oh, you're not," I assure him as a sheet of heat suffuses my cheeks.

"Look, Ms. Steele…government has a purpose when it comes to making policy and it's more often than not thorny and learning how to wheel and deal is where we come in. There's always someone looking to trade. Hawk. Sell. Take it from me, learn to recognize the signs before you end up doling out a bunch of promises. Otherwise, you won't last but a term. Forget a one-hit wonder on the Hill—you'll be forgotten before you get started."

That admission does it for me. Either I do what needs to be done or get the hell out. I can't lose my head. Not when he's a go-getter. Just the type who might teach me a thing or twenty on how to make it on my own. The man I'm going to target—mirror. That's lesson number one on how to make it. Emulate those in power—those deemed memorable.

But how to get Grey to see me as more than shooting from the hip? That means I've got to seriously stow my emotions and be smooth as glass. Cold. Calculating to a fault. No more emotional breaks. No more acting naïve. I've got to up the ante. If I don't, I won't have a connection worth diddly and all that bullshit talk about making my mark won't materialize.

"Did you mean this?" he asks, holding up a sticky note.

I've got one month to prove I'm capable, dependable, determined… and then my world stops spinning—retrograde is about to take over. Holy crap! He shows me the sticky note José wrote as a dirty joke and I forgot about. José must have caught a glance and the car swerves on the rode—a sharp lurch.

"Christ," Grey growls, yet never breaks eye contact with me.

"Err…" I falter, not knowing what to say and sternly remind myself not to shift my focus to José.

"Well?" he asks.

"Well," I parrot back to him as we both stare at each other. Either my imagination has gone over to the dark side or we're about to fuck each other mindless. Without blinking, I absorb the raw intensity in his eyes and for a second, I can't respond.

I've never seen a man look at me like he does and I'm literally swept away by the power he wields. Without a word, he opens a door into his world, offering me a glimpse, and now my whole future hinges on what comes out of my mouth. He very well could be thinking I'm a wacko, looking to hook up after one kiss. I need to let him know that I view this as totally a work relationship and I'm one hundred and fifty percent committed.

"Can we get past trading 'well,'" he says.

His question doesn't jar me like the other times—oh no. It's as if we're connecting on a deeper level. I can feel him—or some premonition—or a terrible case of wishful thinking. The adrenaline rush that follows has me ready to catapult and I swallow a stream of gibberish, excuses on the tasteless joke that José had about the senator a.k.a. a slice of man cake flavored sex and sin. Obviously, I'd forgotten about the note and now I have two seconds to think of something. _Anything!_

"That's just a _mistake_… Nothing to consider." But of course, it's all I'm considering. As soon as the words pop out my mouth, everything changes. I'm using his word and I wonder if he is going to take offense. In a blink, the world around me fades to black and there's only Christian Grey and me.

He gazes at me, his eyes unwavering, the note in his hand.

In an attempt to gather my wits, I struggle to regain control over the coiling lust about to run wild and wreak havoc on my finely laid plans. For a breath, this aching need tempts me to push aside my purpose, and pull him by his tie until our mouths meet. I roll my bottom lip between my teeth, considering how many shades of delicious he'd feel like with his tongue thrusting in between my lips. One. More. Time.

Then I remember José is upfront when he abruptly coughs. Code for _GET A GRIP!_ Right—this is all in my imagination.

Senator Grey might have a wandering eye, but he isn't into interns. Confirmed in all my research on the man. He's got a whistle clean record and the political backing to hit it big in the White House. Christ, he's a rising star and I'm demented if I think he wants to kiss me like he did in that hall.

Instead of thinking in terms of locking lips, I should remember Grey could be a huge connection. Gargantuan to work for someone, who in a few years, might not only work in D.C. but become the fearless leader of the U.S. of A!

This calls for damage control and some groveling. I don't need reminding that some journalists are being beheaded for wanting to shed light on the truth, not engaging in wishful thinking of what it would be like to kiss the new boss _during the interview_.

"It's just. God, I didn't mean to give it to you…it has nothing to do my work ethics or my ability to get the job done! My answers are on the page. Read those ones." Scooting forward, I reach over and tap the box on the application all the while neither of us breaks eye contact. "I grasp concepts quickly. My lips are sealed. I'm here to learn and reap from my experience. The trip up the ladder begins here. With you, Senator Grey, and I'm pretty sure we both can get what we want."

"I see," he says.

I pull my hand back and he lets his legs splay open, tapping my resume lightly on his thigh. Slowly, he raises his hand to his chin, and bites the side of one of his long fingers as we continue in this mind-warping face-off.

The silence is deafening, so all-encompassing it feels like the temperature back here just shot way up. My whole body blushes, hotter when he lets his gaze rove down from my face to my chest. _Can he see how fast I'm breathing?_

I try to swallow, but a brick of anxiety is lodged in my throat. I remind myself to stop fidgeting with the material of my dress at my lap, and still my fingers. José slows down, and turns the corner. The coffee house entrance flashes, a line of people are outside, and I struggle to take a breath.

"Well, Ms. Steele, then it looks like we'll be spending time together…close quarters for the next day. Let's see if you can keep up."

"Does that mean I'm on your team?"

"I'll make a decision tomorrow night. You up for a late night? As you know my schedule just got slammed and I need to prep for tomorrow," he counters and I wonder what in the hell I just bought into. The car stops and he opens the door, climbing out and away before I can respond.

Doesn't matter. I'll do whatever it takes to get on the Hill with a VIP pass this man can capably provide. We'll hang tonight and I've got to make certain he understands, I'm no slacker but can handle whatever he throws my way.

I'll do anything—nothing is too lowly on the internship ladder. It's one month—four weeks to show him, I'm the real deal, and then I might snag a fall internship. Might actually find my place without needing my family's help and with a man who might turn out to be more powerful than any one family. _President Christian Grey_—he could happen—we could happen—if I get my head out of the clouds.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~MORE TO COME.


	7. Nowhere to Hide

**ADULT CONTENT. Extreme. Code for NUCLEAR EXPLOSIVE.**

**CHRISTIAN**

**Gathering a Quorum**

FUCK, I can't let go of the note she's written in pink ink in large block letters. "_INTIMATE STAFF ASSISTANT_." I don't look down at the page where she's indicating with her insistent finger tapping.

Sure, the voice in my head shouts to release it, but I don't. For minutes, we talk about stuff—don't ask me what—it all sounds like non sequiturs.

Except for when she pointedly mentions the war. That's what this is like sitting next to her with a driver up front. I'd much rather be in bed with her than dickering. Steele's into war reform—that much I remember but anything else besides a clusterfuck of dirty thoughts concerning her body and me ravaging her—all white noise.

I'm caught in the moment, contemplating the many ways this girl can serve me—not one has to do with the Hill. None have to do with performing legislative research, attending hearings, or answering constituent phone calls. I'm not contemplating where to plug her in with the other Legislative Staff. Not an idea that involves my domestic or foreign policy opinions nor my ideas on crafting legislative bills. Forget my rocketing career in politics.

What I want from her can ruin me? Unless… I plot and plan how I'll go about seducing this woman into my bed while keeping _her lips sealed_. Her words not mine.

As we gaze at one another, a vein in her neck pulsates wildly, and I carefully consider what's required to fuck her. I mean really, really fuck her. Everything in my life worth having requires work…hard work, and what I've brought to the table. Why not this?

Ever since I met her, I can't forget her and now, I won't be able to if we're going to be in close quarters. I've never considered an intern, but she's different. Sure, it's been awhile since I wholly sampled a girl who's new to the lifestyle of unadulterated submission to my every whim—all the details are just that. Meaningless checkpoints.

I look at her—look her up and down and don't even try to hide what I'm doing. God, she's stunning, even more stunning today, with her knock-out looks and spunk. Let me count the ways I'm going to enjoy getting her to conform and all the toys and tricks I've missed employing in my bed of late.

Brain buzzing, raw lust swimming in my veins, and I feel the crash of adrenaline bursting into my bloodstream in committing to the task of breaking her in. Holy shit, I'm more than game for introducing Ms. Steele to hardcore sex, and then teaching her all sorts of dirty things to do to please me.

The muscles all over my body tighten, and I'm blinded by eviscerating lust as I mentally undress this woman, imagining her spread eagle, blindfolded, muffled, and cuffed.

_Grey, are you crazy?_

As we pull up in front of the coffee house, I silently respond to the goddamn voice in my head that's fucking annoying as shit, "No, not even close."

At the coffee house, an informal meet-n-greet that I could do in my sleep, except every atom in my body is hyper aware of the woman standing next to me.

A gentleman claps me on the back. "Senator, is it true about the immigration reform uproar? What is the President thinking?"

Shit, I can hardly recite my own name and now I've got to talk shop. I answer questions, one after another, but all the while I'm in my own personal hell where my tie feels more like a noose. Standing with a cup of coffee in hand, I'm wishing it were Scotch. A gallon at least.

More and more people enter. Steele answers questions or directs the speaker to me, coming over and paving an introduction. She's a natural at making small talk and in the crowded space, our bodies unintentionally come into contact where she accidentally brushes against my semi erect cock. More than once. Okay, maybe not completely unintentionally on my part. I can't help steering my body in her direction. I have to cop one more glance as she licks her pink lips, or flashes her eyes over to me. Each and every time, I feel of jolt of electricity rip through my awareness. I could spend the night watching her.

Applause starts, then ramps up, and I force my focus to the front as I walk forward. "Thank you for having me. I couldn't be happier to be here with you all tonight, and to the Back Bay Business Association…a huge thanks. Your campaign support is phenomenal." I raise my cup to several of the Newbury high rollers I see in front of me…until my eyes touch upon Steele's face and my mind blanks for a second. A groan threads up my throat, and I stifle it, hurling myself into a speech I've given countless times over the last month. At the end, I nod, pulling at my collar as I meet her gaze.

I move to her side. "Any thoughts or suggestions for improvement?" I ask, smiling at those who clap my back as I give rote responses to congratulations floating around us.

"Everyone is thrilled that you're here." She smiles at me and then shifts her eyes at the people milling about.

_Not everyone_. I'd much rather be back at the hotel. "You're good at working the crowd."

She glances up at me and shrugs. "I've had experience at flashy events."

Every time I glance at her, she's doing something that has me to the point of hauling her to the back restroom and pushing her against a wall, demanding to know what's her game or if she's the slightest bit interested in letting me do her. If the inside of the Bronco was torture, this is no reprieve, and I can't wait to get out of here.

An hour later, I'm practically sprinting out the door as I take her elbow, piloting her to the waiting Bronco at the curb. "Goodnight," I say to those standing around us.

"Senator Grey?" A couple at the curb walks over. "We can't thank you enough for what you're doing. Not just here tonight, but all over."

"Good evening? What's your names?" I smile, and hold out my hand.

They introduce themselves as Tomas and Angie, a husband and wife and owners to a bookstore nearby. I gesture to Steele. "My intern. Miss Steele. It's a pleasure and I appreciate you both coming out tonight."

For a few minutes, we all talk and I get the full-on Anastasia Steele impact, a dose of her level of charisma, until the man nods, tugging on his wife's arm. "Don't want to talk you ear off."

I blink and realize, shit. I've been staring again at Steele. "I could stand here all night and talk." We all laugh and I direct my gaze to the girl standing next to me. We exchange another found of handshakes with the couple, and as they walk away, I turn toward her, and piloting her to the Bronco.

"Ready?" Steele asks in a quiet voice as we climb into the backseat.

"José, get us to the hotel," I order in a clipped voice, and settle back, observing the girl who almost brought me to my knees.

THE DRIVER lifts out my bags and she seems nervous as though she has something important to relay. "Do you want the driver to stay?" I ask, wanting to define our plans.

"I have an apartment in town," Steele replies, following me to the rear of our ride.

"I figured," I retort drily. Is she about to bow out after trying to convince me how much she's a team player? Typical rich kid shit.

"But I can stay here if they have an open bed."

The term 'bed,' gliding of her tongue lands like a bomb, exploding inside my head.

We're standing out on the sidewalk and I'm right in the middle of reaching into my pocket for my money clip when the driver's head snaps up at her announcement. I meet his disgruntled gaze, and watch his lips twitch like he's about to join in the conversation and dissuade her. _Excuse me…just ignore her. This girl's the ultimate tease_.

The ultimate challenge. Every guy has met a few_._ Sure, I could set the driver straight, but instead go for the expected reply. The one that won't get me kicked in the nuts.

"Considering we have a ton of work to get done, that might be best," I say with phony aplomb, peeling off a tip for the driver, and refusing to react to her well-timed reference to a bed that will contain her tight little body for the night.

I look up, meeting her eyes, and grind my teeth. This comment can go south in so many ways. José , a volunteer from where I know not, might tweet or post this snippet, or worse, I might lose it in the elevator—forget needing a bed. Fucking Steele up against a wall sounds spectacular—and this time around, I'm not going to hold back if given the opportunity.

"Senator, let me go get a room." Abruptly, she leans in close, infusing me with a measured dose of unwavering eye contact and another hit of her fragrance—light with a citrus undertone…mind tripping and I forget all about the world around us. Christ, her pupils are fully dilated, leaving her arctic blue ice irises captivating neon rims. Her bewitching gaze peers into me, diving deep—too deep.

I wonder what's running through her mind and why there's this undeniable connection between us where all I want to do is go upstairs, strip her naked, tie her to my bed, and spend the next few hours fucking her repeatedly. Hard. Driving. Some might describe my type of sex as brutal in how hard I'll dominate this girl.

Only one thing is needed and it's her admission that she's a willing participant. I can feel the rush of lust coat my reason until it's slick and slippery. Every filthy fantasy involving Steele that I've entertained for the last seven weeks overpowers my sound judgment until I'm left fighting the urge to shove her against the car, cup her head, and haul her mouth to mine.

"Hey, is that okay?" she asks when I've yet to respond.

_Decision made. This girl and I are going to fuck. Protracted and carnal._

Handing the driver a tip, I say to her, "Put it on my credit card." Afterward, I murmur a delayed, "Thanks, José . See you tomorrow."

With my computer case in hand, I'm vaguely aware of the driver mock saluting me before he retreats into the car without further incident and the hotel staff wheels my luggage away.

At least that's what I believe, not that I could say exactly what anyone else was doing as I remove my credit card and hand it over to Steele. It's her reaction I'm finely tuned into as I gauge my next words. I need a drink to unwind and plot my next move. The chances of her agreeing to go upstairs and let me fuck her like a savage are in the range of probable, and I'm keyed up to the max.

"Hopefully they have a room available," she murmurs, flicking her gaze to the driver as she waves.

Once again I'm knocked in the forearm by her sudden movement, jarring my thoughts as I hold my wallet and almost drop it. Dammit, together Steele and I are clumsy. Some type kinetic lack of spatial orientation between us that keeps us in close proximity.

"We have an early morning and I plan on hitting it before sunrise." Words aren't my forte right now, envisioning her naked, bound, and under me.

"I'm good with that. College is all about all-nighters." She takes my credit card but not before her silky fingers slide over mine, discharging an electric jolt that shoots up my arm.

"Doesn't get much better in politics," I mutter.

At this rate, I don't know if I can keep my distance if she's next to me on a sofa in my suite. Alarm bells blare a warning. For all her teasing and the one heated kiss we exchanged, she could have an aversion to being manhandled and meekly submitting as I fuck her nonstop. The idea of hitting the sheets with her is looming larger, occupying the space in my head, and I tug at my tie. How can I find out?

"I'm not put off," she replies.

"We'll see," I say, motioning to the entrance.

Entering the hotel with her, I focus on the floors in lieu of her ass. They're a warm, dark gleaming wood and I'm conscious of her heels _tap-tap-tapping_. A few feet before the check-in desk, she slows and curls her fingers over my arm. "There's a line. I'll check us in if you have calls to make."

The feel of her fingers solidifies my resolve that fucking her is my next stop on this campaign trail. A glimmer of practicality knifes my consciousness and I question my sanity. I'm hungry to slam my cock into her more than anything I've ever craved, but if she's not down for that…the slightest reference could land my name, face, and the U.S. Senate in the limelight. Not the type of press coverage I or the White House needs. As in ever.

"I don't know if this will work," I say softly, watching her mouth and feel my body heat. In that second, I can plainly see how fucked up this could become with a girl like Steele, and I clench my jaw for having admitted aloud what's plaguing me.

"Again?" she replies. "Look I'm here to work. Whatever you're thinking, it's bullshit Senator Grey. Total and irrevocable bullshit."

A burst of fire scathes my nerve endings, signaling that what's going on between us is far outside the norm even for the places I inhabit. In a secret world where edge-sex relies upon instinct, I'm throwing caution to the fucking wind.

"Fine. If you're up for what I've got." I look down at her fingers, focusing on the deep red color on her nails, and grind out, "I need a drink, Steele."

Backing away from her, my only plan is to head for the hotel pub. No question, I need some liquid ammunition to stop from coming onto her with the force of a wrecking ball. I glance around the lobby, spotting the hotel lounge. A dark rectangle cut-out in the far wall where the twinkling white lights remind me of Christmas. I squelch that thought as my only means to disengage the rolling nausea whenever I contemplate the holidays.

"Where are you going?" Her eyes grow to the size of saucers and I gesture with a snap of my chin toward the hotel lounge.

"I'll be in that bar."

"Then I'll meet you there."

Nodding, I can't get away fast enough in my quest to toss back a few shots of steel reserve in the form of straight single malt Scotch. Hell, I'll guzzle unfiltered moonshine if it means sweet relief from this razor sharp ache that's crawling under my skin from Steele and her perfect pink fuckable lips.

"It's been a long day and we won't get to bed 'til probably early morning…" And the audacity of her being here hits me. Twice we've run into each other and are closer than two coats of paint in what we want. "Why did you come to airport, if you could have met me tomorrow morning?"

She smiles. "I didn't want to miss the opportunity and when Nora offered me the spot, she mentioned it was last minute since you'd dismissed your team. She changed up your schedule and worries about you."

"Worries too much and I understand, you're partially to blame. Thank you." Standing this close to Steele, I'm faced with the plaintive truth. She's the type of woman who'll be a royally great lay, but isn't a recruit for what I habitually seek. One taste of her pussy and I might want another. And another. I feel the force of that veracity spread through me, all the more tempting under the weight of potential disaster she represents. You'd think a prick like me can find a lay but it's not that simple. Not anymore.

Silently I'm chanting for her to step away, or better yet, spin on her circus height heels, and go conquer the world miles away from me.

"My pleasure. I had a few favors owed."

"It's been awhile since I was back on campus and I'm looking forward to this IRL with the independents."

"IRT?" she asks.

"_In real time_." I stiffen and the chanting fades to a dead stop. What favors could the independent party possibly owe her? This question grounds me, and I formulate a casual response, but all the while, I'm interested in getting to the bottom of more than a few things where Steele is concerned. "Interesting. We need to talk."

"Indeed. After I check-in, I'll bring your key to the bar. Okay?" Her suggestion sounds innocent…but with our raw attraction, I'm wondering how innocent she actually is.

"Sounds like a plan," I retort. _Plan? I'm the one who needs one._ The only strategy I come up with is to let her decide if we'll take this further. It's basic, flawed, and the only one I've got. No wrangling or maneuvering, no fancy talk or flirting.

Her brows knit together and then she points toward the check-in counter. "Any special room requests?"

"A bed. King size. What do you drink?" Tempting fate, I offer her a drink, and I wait to hear her response.

She meets my stare. "Whatever you're having."

I cock an eyebrow. "You drink Scotch?"

"Sure. Why not?" She stops in midstride, glances over to me, and returns my raised eyebrow. "I'm tougher than I look."

"I believe that." After meeting plenty of champagne-looking women who can drink me under the table, I'm not about to turn this into a drinking gauntlet. "Great, we'll drink Scotch together and talk campaign strategy for Boston."

Provocatively she smiles, pivoting on her heel, and leaving me once again frozen in my tracks. This magnetic connection we've got—the push and pull—is driving me berserk.

If I don't get a handle on my runaway reaction to her, I might drink the bar dry in an effort to extinguish this craving she's flagrantly unsheathes and seems to enjoy antagonizing. As I cross the lobby, lost in a tangle of my thoughts, all envisioning Steele under me, and weighing the possibility that she might be a virgin. I don't do virgins.

I almost trip over my own idiot imagination and curse under my breath._ Grey, shut the fuck up! _If Steele is a virgin, I most certainly will be open to popping her cherry. Every last one for that matter.

Inside the bar, it's crowded for a Wednesday…hump day and I find a spot open but only one chair. I remove my jacket and drop it over the back of the barstool and order our drinks. Raking my fingers through my hair, I glance around and meet the glittery eyes of several women. I slide my gaze away, following a trail of half-filled glasses toward the television and a Red Sox game that's almost over.

When the bartender sets down the drinks, I nod and sign the tab. When I'm alone again, I lift mine, and take a sip. Christ, this has been one long ass day. The Scotch ignites a line of glowing warmth from my tongue to my stomach, and I toss back the rest, then motion to the bartender for another. Without thinking twice, I pick up Steele's and decide why not. Lifting the glass to my lips, I run my fingers along the smooth wood of the counter and think of the difference between the hard surface and her soft skin. I glance into the mirror on the wall opposite the bar and can see not only myself but what's behind me, namely Ms. Steele across the lobby.

For an intern, she's beyond run of the mill. Most are stylish like her, but there's something about _Ana Steele_ that rubs me into overdrive. I stand there fascinated, watching her, and lean on my elbow as I down her drink. That makes two shots and when the bartender sets the third down, I motion for him to set me up again. He doesn't bat an eye and I return to my creeper amusement of spying on my intern.

The woman to my left leans over and asks if I have a cigarette. I shake my head, oblivious to her except that she's attractive but isn't my type. No one in the whole godforsaken place is my type save one, and she's about to find out how much.

With the Scotch working its magic, I feel myself unwind and by the time Ms. Steele begins her trek toward me, we have two drinks waiting on the bar. Remarkably, my head is clear and I'm back in the game.

She saunters across the short space of the lobby and into the bar. I turn and wave effortlessly as if I haven't been watching her every move. I chew on the end of a swizzle stick, and smile easily into her face. She's a half-head shorter than me even wearing heels. Truly almost a foot shorter in bare feet, and I'm certain that fucking her up against a wall will be the highlight of my campaign trail.

I nearly groan aloud at the thought of thrusting my dick into her and motion to the empty bar stool. "This one is for you," I say and she adjusts her purse on her shoulder. I reach out and take the strap, hauling it up and onto the bar. "What in the world?" I ask, eyeing her bag.

"I like to be prepared," she replies. "I didn't know exactly what I'd need."

"Most people conduct business on their phones nowadays," I say and then laugh, handing her a glass. I take the other, holding it up. "To the path of least resistance."

"And to getting the job done."

If she only knew what that entails, would she utter those words with the filthy thoughts running through my mind?

"So how many internships have you had when the person in charge is a complete SOB?" I take a sip of my drink, all the while gazing at her over the rim.

"I've had a lifetime of adjusting to SOBs…don't forget my family." She takes a dainty sip of her Scotch, and wrinkles her nose.

Blow me, but this girl doesn't drink aged whiskey. Shit, I wonder if she drinks at all. "Those don't count. You can't escape them."

"We'll see." Her face tightens and I'm again reminded of the list of questions I'm compiling about her, and which is getting longer by the second.

I finish my drink and set my glass on the bar, and decide to open the door to what's bothering me. "Anything specific I need to know insofar about you or what you're looking to get out of this experience?"

"What do you mean?" She runs her finger along the rim of her glass, meeting my gaze, and we both are watching one another. That's exactly what we've done since the moment we met and I get she wants something from me. But what?

"Look, you came to me or my office after we'd…already met. Correct?" I almost say 'after the _hallway scene'_ but catch myself.

"Yes." She shrugs and lifts her glass, sipping the amber-colored liquor, and carefully darting her tongue along her lips to capture a drop at the corner of her lush mouth. In my alcohol soaked brain, I struggle to remember the thread of our conversation when I all I want to do is taste her mouth, suck and bite those lips. Hear her moan my name.

"Let's not insult each other with polite answers. The truth is much more refreshing. What is it that you're after? I sure as hell know what I want from you and every person on my team."

"I'm interested in what goes on in a senator's office. How to be the person you need. Is that being honest enough?"

"And you just happened to pick me after...New York?" I shake my head. "You want in on my team. First lesson in politics, everyone wants something. Find out what it is that's for sale. So what's it going to be?"

"What do you want?"

"Answering a question with a question. That's not a good start."

"Depends. What's the second lesson?" she asks, holding my gaze.

I lean closer, whispering, "Figure out if you can afford what's being offered. There are hundreds of lessons, but let's just deal with these ones. Shall we?"

She opens her mouth and I expect to hear an answer spill out her fresh mouth, but she stalls…releasing a soft breath that's barely audible. _Beautiful girl is deliberating_. This isn't the moment to rush her and I wait. It's a ploy I learned in giving a speaker a few seconds to collect their thoughts. If Steele were a man I'd be tempted to tell him to sac up, but obviously it's her spine that needs to bear the burden. Her eyelashes flutter. Is she made of steel or a bag of pretty fluff? Both are equally tempting.

My dick hardens, reminding me, I could go for broke by invading her space—hell I could invade her mouth. Kiss her lips open, thrusting my tongue over hers as I haul her off the bar stool and give her a sample of what I require. She sucks her bottom lip, her eyes still locked with mine, and fuck, I feel as if she's sucking the crown of my cock with her lush pink lips.

With her chest rising and falling, each breath getting faster and shallower, she nods. "I'll give you what you want Senator? My focused attention and drive. You give me access to your office? Is that something we both can afford?"

"That sounds like a business proposition."

"Isn't that what you want to hear?"

It might be the alcohol talking or my dick screaming, but I lay all my chips on the table in order to close this deal. "One night. Anything and everything goes."

"One night? With you?"

"Yeah. A night. Whatever I want and we won't discuss afterward. Ever." I keep my voice low and glance around to see if anyone is privy to our little conversation. "Do you understand my offer?"

"One time. And I'm your intern. Full-fledged by virtue of going the full mile."

I correct her. "One full night. It's going to be more than one time."

Her pupils dilate again, until her eyes are fully black and slowly she nods. "Yeah. I'm good with that."

"Drink up," I say to my new intern whose spine is a good deal more than commonplace steel—diamond-tipped titanium comes to mind.

"Bottoms up," she whispers.

My skin tightens from her words.

"That'll do." Fuck, she better understand the line she just crossed. I motion to the barkeep and start with my first order of what will be a long list for this girl. "Let's go."

She downs her drink which surprises me and lifts her purse, coming off the barstool and is at my side by the time I've signed our tab. We walk out of the dim bar into the brightly lit corridor, and find the elevator. I press the call button, copping a side-glance of the woman I'm about to make scream my name and come all over my cock. The elevator doors open and I tell myself go slow. Relax.

"Eleventh floor," she says softly without me asking.

My lucky number and as soon as the polished metal doors close, I growl, "Fuck waiting." My pronouncement shreds the whirling quiet of the elevator.

I wheel around, planting my free hand on the wall in back of Steele's head, looking down to meet her eyes which intently stare up at me. A vein in her neck pulses and I watch her tuck several strands of errant silk behind her ear. We're both staring and I'm done with wasting more time.

Dropping my jacket, I slide my hand along her waist, curling my fingers over her hip, and roughly pull her to me without stopping. She sucks in a sharp breath when I come closer and our bodies meet. God, this is better than the first time. Feels so good to grind my hard-on into her softness. I can't resist pushing her back until she's flush with the elevator wall, pinned by my hips. I crash my mouth down to hers but her lips remain closed. Stubborn intern.

"Open to me, and kiss me the fuck back." I fist her hair, peering into her eyes, and cock a brow. "Or I could make you. If you prefer?"

"Think you can?" she snarls, wrapping her hand in my tie. "Better not stop this time!"

I lean in. "There will be no stopping. _Better _like it rough?"

"Are you man enough to go that route?"

"You tell me." Oh how I'm going to enjoy her spunk. I yank tendrils of her hair, making her arch her slender neck, until she does as she's told with the parting of her incredible lips. "That's it, baby. Open your fuckable mouth for me."

I bend, crushing my lips to hers, and finding that this time, she's ready and willing. God, she tastes as sweet as I remember…sweeter when she opens her mouth and dances her tongue across mine in a teasing glide that will be dealt with as soon as we're naked. Cupping the back of her head, I'm near to groaning but refuse, angling her mouth closer. She bites my lip in response, and I feel the pinch of pain travel straight to my dick.

"Prick," she whispers.

"You have no idea." I barrel my hips against hers, seeking that soft space where I'll soon be housed.

The elevator dings and I'm not ready to let her go. Fuck, there are voices out in the hall beyond, forcing me to step back, allowing us to come apart. I reach down to capture my jacket and get an eyeful of her legs, and especially her torturous shoes. Those lovelies are going to be thrown over my shoulders in short order.

"After you," I murmur, licking a trace of lip gloss from my lips.

Steele has the room key out and ready. "Room 1110. Up ahead."

I like that she doesn't talk a lot and what she says is timely. Hope that's part of her charm set.

"Give me the card," I say at the door.

"Bossy much?" She hands it over with a quirked brow as she gives me one of her provocative little vixen grins.

I want to haul her ass inside and up against a wall. God, she's got me going. We enter and it's a standard room with two double beds. Hers, I take it, and glance around, turning on the bathroom light, and crossing toward the windows. I adjust the air conditioning then toss my jacket onto a chair, and proceed to free myself of my tie and kick off my shoes.

"Go over to the bed." I'm holding my tie between my hands and give her a very long look. I walk toward her and am prepared to lift her up if she doesn't get moving.

She turns on her heel, walks a steady path over to the bed, and I follow in her wake. She sets her purse the bureau without stopping, meeting me at the side of the bed.

"Stand here. Remove your clothes or I'll tear them off your beautiful body," I say staring down at her.

Fuck, I need a second. I yank and stripe the bedding, down to the fitted sheet, and toss the covers in a mess onto the floor. Unbuckling my belt, I whip it loose from my pants, setting it next to my tie on the bed as she stares at me while I'm unbuttoning my shirt.

If she thinks I repeat directions, she'll have much to learn even if it is one night. I can fuck a girl for hours and withhold from coming. And with her, I'm prepared to do whatever it takes to demonstrate she will follow my directions. I'm going to enjoy her in so many ways.

First I deal with my cufflinks and then I'm next to her with one intention: to help my intern learn who's top in this equation. Without a sound, I grab hold of her by the arm and force her backward until her legs are against the mattress.

"I gave you a direction. Simple to follow. Problem?" Without waiting for her response I spin her around, curling my arm across her waist and haul her ass cheeks against me. Slowly, I trace down her dress with my fingers, skimming the hem and enjoying the feel of her softness and her light scent.

To my surprise, she whimpers, "Please."

"Hope that's you asking for more. This is your one chance. Do you want me to fuck you? Without mercy and I when I say hard, that's what I mean. You need to tell me, in no uncertain terms, you're okay with what we're about to do."

She stops wriggling her hips. Her shoulders rise and fall as she inhales a deep breath, and then exhales, "Yes."

I reach down and rapidly lift the bottom of her dress. Again she's wearing a strip of white lace. I can see without a doubt she's got a thing for sexy lingerie—G-string, garter and I want her without this dress, marring the view of me slamming my cock into her from behind. There is only one reason a woman wears these lacy things and it isn't to discuss politics. "Did you want me to fuck you in the elevator? I bet that's how you get off."

"Too much talking." She makes an angry noise and tries to turn around.

I hold her steady. "Here's your one and only warning. Answer the question the first time asked, Ms. Steele."

She laughs and replies, "You're an egotistical prick."

"And you're a fucking tease. Aren't you?" I ask, gritting my teeth, peeling apart her cheeks. "Admit it and I might go easy on your ass. Such a beauty."

"You mean you're not going to tell me that this a _mistake_ and stop again?

She's pissed. I get that.

She's right, I was a prick.

But her fresh mouth has got me going. "Fuck… I'm going to enjoy teaching you some manners." I rub my hands up her body to the back of her dress. There's a small pearl button at the top and I make quick work of it before I take hold of the material at the neck and rip her dress in one rendering sweep of my hands. Enlivened is how I feel, like a magician who has divested a magnificent table of a cloth. I remove my wallet and a condom, tearing off the top of the foil packet with my teeth.

I unbutton my trousers. Lower my zipper and swath myself in latex, letting my gaze rake over her backside. "Bend over, Ms. Steele and take it like a big girl."

"What are you going to do?"

"Oh I'm pretty sure even you can answer that question." With my cock bumping against her perfectly rounded ass, I'm coming undone which is ludicrous—I don't come undone. Never. Roughly I push her shoulders down, arranging her hands on my bed. "Stay like this."

Tapping her feet apart, I reach and rip off her panties. I'm harder than I've been in forever and seeing her bare ass, I'm caught in wanting to smack her creamy cheeks and fuck her to burn through the haze of lust and sharp need that's built to untenable proportions inside my body.

Hauling her hips back up, I grip my cock at the base, and swipe my head through her slick and soft folds, seeking her entrance. Poised at the mouth of her pussy, I grit my teeth, slamming my cock fully inside her, and loudly say, "Let the fucking begin."

She's tight and tips up her hips, giving me a spectacular view of how my cock glistens, entering and exiting her body. I pump my hips, slamming into her faster as I crave going deeper. She rocks forward but before she can move another inch, I haul her back onto my cock, impaling her until she curses. Clenches around me like a vise that has me seeing stars.

Oh fuck. Did I say I could last all night? The sensation of wanting to jet overtakes me. I hold on to her hips, grinding my cock so deep inside her that I'm forcing myself to slow down to gain control. I've got to find a rhythm that isn't going to have me coming in the next five strokes. What is it about this woman that has me to the edge this soon?

The fact that her pussy is squeezing the thoughts from my head is a big factor, but I've had tight pussy before. Tons, but not one like this girl's. This is karma, coming for a bite out of my ego. I'm the one trying to teach her the lesson of only going after what you can afford…total conceited asshole move on my part.

She's narrow and wet, and I can't help but drive my cock into her so hard, she yelps. Again, I pummel my length from tip to root in one slamming thrust until we're locked together. I sink into her deeply, ride inside her slippery warmth without attempting to slow my descent. She's got me going and I can't stop.

I'm a regular fucking machine. Sweat goes from a sheen glistening over my skin to gluing my shirt to my shoulders and dripping down my face, droplets running into my eyes. Flat out, this girl is going to teach me a lesson on several levels starting with my ego. I pump my hips in piston perfect strokes, giving into the mind-blowing sensation of having my dick milked. Best sex I've had in a long as hell time.

"God, I want to fuck you until we both see stars," I snarl as my roiling disbelief wages war on my need to come so hard, I'm going to yell her name.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ MORE TO COME

Okay, now I need your help. We've seen dueling POVs.

If you had to choose, which voice or perspective would you rather read between during the car ride?

Christian only?

Ana only?

Or a combination of both Ana and Christian in one chapter?

THIS IS SUPER IMPORTANT and if you can just leave letter, that's fine. I know it takes time to comment and I really, really appreciate the feedback. BIG HUG!

Thank you.


	8. RODE HARD, Put Up Wet

ADULT CONTENT~

**Mature Subject Matter **

RODE HARD...put up wet

Ana Steele

"GREY PLEASE," I hiss his name accompanied by a plea. This can't be happening. I'm letting him do me—no strike that—I'm being ridden rough by him. Under him, half-clothed, I'm ready to purr his name in some version of sex-crack. Sensually intoxicating and the best head trip…ever.

His raspy laugh floats over me as he grinds his cock into me, lifting my hips. "That's it, c'mon little intern. This is how you need to be fucked. Isn't it?"

He probably says that to all the girls he rides. In bed, I bet he thinks he's God's gift to women.

"You're such a dick"

"Correction, A-na-sta-sia." He says my name as his hips pound in rough slams against my bottom, forceful enough to break up his gravelly voice into sexy syllables. Changing tempo, he slows, pumping his cock to the hilt inside me. Without stopping, he spreads my ass cheeks and withdraws his shaft, groaning in a low growl, "Ah. So beautiful. You should see this sight."

I peek over my shoulder to see him staring down between our bodies. "Admiring your cock?"

"Sweetheart, I've got a big one and we both love being inside your hot pussy."

Glancing away, I taunt him, "Really. I hadn't noticed."

He chuckles darkly, like that's the perfect thing I could have uttered. "Are you saying we should take this up a notch? I can fuck you like you've never been fucked before. Just say so."

Clenching around him, I arch upward. "I can take whatever you have to give."

Again he laughs and the mocking note in his voice makes my skin pebble as my pussy tightens around his dick. Unlike me, the man isn't lying. He's hung like a Spartan. Perfect accessory for his gargantuan ego. He's a fucking demon, and I can't hold back.

"Beautiful, I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk," he promises as he hikes up my hips, and slams back into me. Superhard. Plunging into me, he grinds his hips roughly against my ass, forcing me take him deeper. Beat upon beat, he rams his rod into me, holding my shoulders down to the mattress as he has his way with my pussy. I bow my head. I'm so overwrought with the thunderous pleasure ripping through me that I claw at the sheet.

"Oh God!" I can't hold on.

"You need more. Don't you?" His fingers travel up my spine, then he grasps my breasts, squeezing each forcefully. He takes me by harder, pummeling his cock into me. As he fucks me, he palms my breasts, grunting harsh sounds, and I thrash under him. Grey lowers the cups of my bra and captures my tits, squeezing my naked flesh in his warm palms.

"You're so…," I groan, unable to say how ungodly amazing he feels inside me.

"Fuck!" he curses low, and yanks my head back, holding a fistful of my hair, and grabs my chin, lifting my face. "I asked a yes or no question. If you don't want me to teach you how to behave, then answer me!" His smoke-colored eyes are almost black as I stare up at him.

I'm lost. So lost and I can't lie to him. I crave more—fuck so much more that I'm willing if not wanting to do whatever he suggests to heighten this mad rush.

"Yes! Please. Give me more," I say and he recaptures my breasts, cupping and kneading each.

Grey pounds into me like an animal. He pumps his hips harder, thrusts his cock deeper with each stroke, and thrums my nipples in time with each slam of his hips.

I place my hands over his, pressing his fingers into my flesh. "God…don't stop."

Without warning, he pinches each sensitive peek between his fingers, delivering rapid-fire jolts of pleasure deep into my belly. Arching upward, I moan—beg for more with half-words. My body responds to each of his thrusts, getting hotter and more unhinged as though I were skating a line, ready to fall into an abyss. All I have to do is let go.

Where is that lesson I was ready to deliver to him? The one where I vowed to be arctic and detached. Calculating.

So not…what's happening. He's clearly the leader in delivering on his promises. _If anything I'm coming…undone. Climaxing with the intensity of a cyclone._

"You're a great fuck, Steele."

"Then fuck me!"

"Baby, you think you can take what I have to give?" He slows, pulling me back onto his cock, lowering his hands.

"Yes…everything. Show me, Grey."

He growls out a curse, rubbing his palms up to my shoulders, then he retraces his fingers down my spine. I quiver under his touch, my stomach muscles tighten…his fingertips feel like red-hot embers torching my self-control.

"Fuck it!" He grabs me around my waist, ramming his cock into me so hard and hungry I can't hide my shudder of pleasure, and cry out.

"Yes!" The absolute bliss I feel tangles with splintering shards of pain.

He's rough, fucks me fiercely, and plunges his cock into my pussy again. And again. Mercilessly he bangs into me in a fast-paced rhythm that's shattering my self-control…until yeah, I'm close. I'm ready to explode. He moves his hands to my shoulders, hooking his fingers while thrusting and grinding his erection farther inside my pussy like a battering ram.

"Ohhh," I moan.

"_Oh_? Better be saying 'Christian' when you come. I'm going to make you feel like a super nova by the time I'm finished with you... if you ask nicely, sweetheart."

I'm so there I'll do anything he asks except beg. The road to hell has so many fine intentions and this man is fucking my self-preservation right out of my body. In this hotel room, he asserts an animalistic type of ownership over me but I'd rather eat dirt than admit that to him. _Never, never ever spill or he'll never let you forget._

"No!"

"Do you want me to stop?" he grunts and actually slows mid-stroke in our twisted, slamming fuck.

"No!" Holy hell, I'm going to scream if he stops and I tense my muscles, ready to demand he keep going. Words crouch on my tongue. I'm confused what to say—what to admit. The pressure of his fingers increases and I growl out another, "No!"

"Can you say something else besides 'No'?"

"Screw you." I laugh, belly rippling as my pussy pulsates, and I grind down on his cock until it's he who's groaning. Loudly.

"Christ, when you do that…"Grey grips my hips with his large hands and his long fingers curl possessively over my skin. He hauls my hips upward then down, impaling himself deep inside me to the point of glittery pain.

"Give me more. Whatever you have!" I tremble, unable to stop from upping the ante. Over and over he fucks me as I rock my hips, riding his cock, and risk crash landing.

"Let me in. All the fucking way inside you." He splays my ass cheeks, pumping his cock into me.

Never have I had sex this rough, this raw, and he's gonna leave marks, bruises from the intensity of his fingertips pressing into my skin. Not even that thought deters me from tilting my pelvis, seeking all of him. "Take me."

"That's it," he says, driving his length into me, withdrawing, and then hurling himself back within me in a savage thrust.

I don't want him to stop and I don't back away, but lower my forehead, gripping the mattress, giving him a better angle.

_That's it._ His words echo, echo. Echo.

I let him ride me, pushing back onto his shaft, and moving his hands to my tits. Our fingers are threaded as he squeezes my breasts with the same rough intensity in how he's fucking me. So unbelievably hard and expertly demanding—mind-blowing to find out rough feels so right. I relish his type of pain-driving touch. The sensation of splintering apart is catching up to me for I'm at the brink and ready to leap.

He lowers and bites my shoulder. "Do you want to come? Hard?" he whispers, the raspy sound of his words fall like insidious boulders. Or wicked bricks of temptation, stacking higher and higher.

His proposition sweeps over me, beckoning me to say 'yes, yes, yes.' Accept and submit to him and allow him to fulfill this physical ache deep inside my belly. But he'll know that I'm down for whatever he suggests—no matter how extreme. I moan, unable to answer him. I can't. He withdraws completely and I gasp in shock. Pushing upward, I glance behind me.

A stern expression blankets his face.

"Are you stopping?" _Is this his goddamn MO?_

A muscle along his jaw twitches and he reaches down, clasping me under my elbows and lifts, spinning me around to face him. His cock bobs between us, shiny with my juices. Is he going to leave? Leave me at the point of losing my mind?

"Ana!" He growls my name once. He doesn't speak further, but palms my head, drawing me to him. Our mouths meet and his tongue forces its way across my lips, thrusting deeper and harder than I imagine possible. He takes me over the edge, using his mouth as a sensual weapon where our tongues dance and duel, until I'm snaking my arms up and around his shoulders, pressing my breasts into his hard chest as the buttons of his shirt rub against my sensitive peaks.

He abruptly stops kissing me—more like devouring—and feathers his fingers on either side of my face. "Focus on my previous instruction. Do you or do you not want to come like you've never climaxed before?"

In truth, this is the first time I'm wet and swollen—soaked—and I'm jittery, near to the point of no return. I'd sell my soul. I'm ready…

"Please, don't stop." I say, wanting him to do me and simultaneously wishing to conceal that fact from him.

His eyes are luminous, his pupils fully dilated, and when he stares at me, I can't look away. Grey's long lashes sweep downward in a slow blink and the effect is sensually arresting if not hypnotic.

"Wrong," he rasps, his mouth inches from my face. "You will ask me to make you come. Now. If you don't, I'll spank your ass until you can't sit down comfortably for a week, and there won't be any more nice, polite fucking tonight. You'll get what you deserve...my help to compel you to follow my directives."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Wouldn't I? You wanted in on _my_ team, sweetheart."

I narrow my eyes. My God, he's so over the top. "I'm not going to beg you!"

"Then you've made your decision." He laughs, a self-assured mocking reply, and without another word, he hoists me up against him, following with a rapid stepping back. Grey sits on the mattress, bringing me down across his muscular thighs.

I'm facing the plush carpeting. This has to be a joke.

"Do you do this with other…interns?" Maybe this is part of the deal and why he's a rock star…some sort of scandal waiting to explode.

"Not one. Not ever," he says, his voice tight. He wraps his tie around my wrists, snapping a knot in place. "You're the first. Now, stop squirming." His husky tone provokes a livewire within me, and the hairs over my body stand straight up.

I try and pull my wrists apart, but his tie is tightly bound, keeping my wrists firmly locked. I snap my gaze to his, needing to know what he has in mind. "What are you doing?"

"You're going to learn to be respectful and do what you're told the first time, Ms. Steele. That's how our time together works. Remember lesson one and two. Our time is a commodity and I won't have it wasted."

I want to howl. What is he talking about? He sounds like he's delivering a warped lecture on Hill decorum, not a scintillating finale to the best fuck I've ever enjoyed. The next thing I feel is the sharp sting of pain, sizzling across my bottom, and I arch upward to no avail.

Grey has me trapped with a curling band of steel—his muscular arm is locked around my middle. He effortlessly keeps me on his lap and right next to his corrugated plank abs. "Going somewhere?"

"Yes."

"Don't think so." To demonstrate who holds all the cards, he spanks me harder, and with that smack, he lets go a hoarse grunt from deep within his chest. I groan at the biting sensation assaulting my nerve endings, reverberating from his palm slapping my ass. The coiling lust he tapped earlier weaves stronger and deeper in my belly. How does he know I enjoy this? I didn't even have a clue before tonight.

Without warning, he smacks my bottom with a force that has me crying out. He doesn't stop or relent but continues spanking me, alternating between cheeks. Repeatedly he slaps my ass on the same spot. Dead aim. He spanks me over and over until both my cheeks are on fire. Near to begging, I rub against his muscular thighs, craving him back between my legs. I grind my hips seeking relief only he can provide.

Every part of me screams for him. An erotic chant, echoes in my blood, and I moan. Whimper. "Christian, please."

"Let me," he murmurs and spanks me, rubbing his hand over my skin. The cracking sound of his smack is loud. He lands his palm flush to my bottom until I'm rocking my hips for more of something I can't even name. My mind is as seared as my skin.

Cell-by-cell, I come alive with each smack from his large palm, teaching me that he has the goods. He rubs his hand over my bottom in a slow, measured massage, dipping his fingers between my ass cheeks. Flexing my hips, I feel his touch, a bolt of bliss that races deep inside me, pulsing in my sex. He's teasing me—exquisitely tormenting me.

"Please," I whisper, desperate to have his rough touch spread my pussy lips apart.

"Ready to follow a direction?" he asks in a gravelly voice.

I meet his gaze that looks steely, hungry and almost proprietary, and I nod, biting my lip. "Yes."

"Spread those beautiful legs of yours," he commands, brushing loose tendrils of hair back from my face.

Without hesitation, I open my legs and hold my breath, unsure what he has in store. He grazes his fingers down between my thighs, opening my pussy as I lift my hips in response. He toggles my clit, pinching me between his fingers, and I jerk back from his rough touch. Oh God, rippling pleasure bursts like fireworks along my skin and my insides squeeze tight.

"So responsive. You're wet and swollen. Fuck, I sure as hell can pick them. You owe me an apology, little girl. Or a finder's fee."

What was he referring to…_pick them_?

Without thinking I say the first thing that comes to mind "Go find and fuck yourself."

"You're stubborn." That's all he says before he spanks me more forcefully this time. Grey swats my ass cheeks in rapid succession, delivering each precisely in the same spot. Holy hell!

Molten fire spreads across my bottom. So many smacks rain down. I can't hold my head up and bend over his thighs, closing my eyelids.

"Please," I hiss the word after he spanks me so hard tears sting my eyes.

"Did I say to look away?" He stops and fists my hair.

"This is too much," I choke out.

"Look at me," he demands.

I shake my head. I can't let him see me undone.

He pulls my hair, making me arch my neck as he lowers his mouth to my ear. "You're still fighting me, so no it's not too much. Don't glance away or I'll start again. And if I have to, I'll spank that wet pussy of yours. Unless of course you'd like to cooperate, and then I can suck on your clit as you soak my mouth with your screaming orgasm. Which is it going to be? Nice or hard?"

His arrogant tone cuts through my cloud of pain laced aching need. A wave of heat bursts from between my shoulder blades, and I grit my teeth. No way is he going to have me begging. "Fuck nice!"

"Oh you don't know when to quit. _Fuck nice_ it is then!" Grey switches from using his hand, to using his belt. The skin over my backside burns and serves as an oh-what-a-big-mouth reminder on who is spanking whom.

I refuse to bow down and hold myself upward with my bound wrists, determined to take each strike of his belt without flinching. Yet each smack slices through my resolve until tears rush from my eyes, pelting down my cheeks. I try to wipe my face on my shoulder, but I'm almost too strung out to care. I can't hold myself up at this angle.

Pinpricking droplets of sweat erupt as a charge of hazy euphoria overwhelms my senses. It's not the fiery smacks holding me captive. An ecstatic charge jets up my spine, igniting a flash of erotic hunger within me. I squirm…needing…needing relief.

This is crazy but I can't fight what my body craves. I want Grey inside me. Deep, deep inside me. "Okay. Please," I murmur. "You're right. You win! I want you to fuck me. I want what you're offering. Is that what you want to hear?"

Not another second passes and he lifts me upward only to toss me face down onto the bed. "Turn over," he instructs.

Rolling over, I watch as he climbs onto the bed, still partially clothed, his cock fully erect. Bigger than before—is that even possible?

"Bend your knees and bring up your legs." He holds himself, gripping his dick at the base close to his balls and aligns his cockhead to my pussy.

I shiver from his rough touch—the promise of him fucking me just like I need. His cock nudges inside me as my nipples turn into diamond points. "You like to give orders. A lot."

"And you like being spanked, don't you? You won't be such a prick tease if you were spanked regularly by a man who knows what to do to get you in line."

"And I suppose you're that man?"

He clenches his jaw and thrusts into me. Deeply embedded inside me, Grey plants his knees near my ass cheeks, and lifts my legs over his shoulders. "You tell me."

Curling his fingers over my thighs, he pounds his cock into me. His balls spank the seam of my ass, alighting fire to the sting assaulting my cheeks.

I moan in response, refusing to admit his assertion is so fucking true. So so true as he holds onto my legs, and repeatedly pounds into me harder and faster.

"Tell me. Do you want a man who can teach you what it means to submit?"

My eyelids are heavy and flutter. Yes. I need this type of conquering—mind obliterating. I need him. "I-I-I.." I stammer, floating.

He drives his dick into me, then leans his body across mine, and curls his fingers around my throat, squeezing forcefully. "Look at me."

My eyes flash open and I feel his fingers tighten, digging into my flesh. He isn't playing some BDSM game.

"Do you?" he asks in a soft voice only the devil should own. Staring down at me, he cocks his eyebrow, our gazes locking.

"I don't know." That's a lie.

"Yes. You do!"

In that instant, I'm fully aware he's serious in his domination, and fuck, I'm turned on. A shimmering wave of lust runs through my veins, making me clench. I quiver in response, rolling my hips, drawing him deeper inside. His eyes glint, his lips curl. With his other hand he threads his fingers into my hair and yanks. God, I can't believe I love when he does that—but I do!

He rocks his hips back, withdrawing his length, and without warning, slams his cock into me…far inside me.

I yelp and he thrusts again. Harder. His expression fiercer.

"Let me… own you." Grunting, he pounds into me, the sounds of his low voice and the slapping of our skin against each other is spellbinding to my senses. What does he mean submit to him with his fingers forcefully holding me imprisoned? This can't be the only thing he does in bed to rule his partners. He's too skilled—too self-assured. But as he fucks me, I can't focus on pursing that line of thinking. Not when he bends over me, pinning me completely to the mattress and ghosts his lips over my jaw.

He skims his mouth that feels like rough velvet, stopping at my ear. "Say it and I promise, I'll take you over the edge into a world few ever get to visit." He plants a wet kiss on my neck, sucks a spot, and then takes my earlobe between his teeth.

I gasp right before he takes a sharp bite. Soothing the spot with his lips, he draws my lobe between his lips, sucking. Biting. The feeling is erotically eviscerating and I'm losing ground in my attempt to deny him.

Without stopping, he pounds his hips against me, over and over and I close my eyes, riding this wave into a hedonistic storm where I can't keep track of horizon. My goals and my reason for fighting his invitation to a hard-edged ecstasy dwindle. I want everything he offers even though a small part of me is screaming, "_Don't admit it_!"

I shut out the sound of that voice and focus on Grey. His chiseled features are more arresting as he fucks me fiercely. Even clothed, his muscular body is undeniable. And the way he moves deeper inside me on levels I never realized existed… each thrust of his cock weakens my resistance.

"Christian," I moan.

"Baby, just let me inside you. All the way." His hands grip me firmly, pulling me back onto his rod.

The pleasure he construes washes over me, not in drips but with a tsunami force. I'm soaking his cock as pleasure ricochets through me. Fucking him is like flying untethered each time his crown hits the tight bundle of nerves inside me.

"Yes. This is perfect," I whisper hoarsely.

"Feel how close you are to ecstasy?" The harder he presses his thumbs against the side of my neck, the better his cock feels pounding into my pussy.

_Yes. Oh yes!_

"Please. More. Tighter," I say as the room around us fades, intoxicating sensations overwhelm me, and he pummels his cock into me without relenting.

"Feel how I own you? Completely."

"Yes. So good." His deep voice surrounds me, weaving inside me. He's over me, his fingers controlling me, the pressure unrelenting but what a rush. I'm coming. That's it. I'm coming so hard. He's fucking me mercilessly and I scream his name right before the world shatters and turns in on itself. In on me. Ceaseless black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~More to come.

Thank you for reading and writing.

You've just read how extreme C & A can get...they want all from each other.

Rules have just gotten broken. Hell they're smashed. Is this too much for you as a reader to handle?

Christian has crossed a line and he's well aware, and will be up next. Torn. But he won't stop until he possesses Ana at all costs.

Do you want the next chapter or are you walking away?

Again, thank you for reading.


	9. Losing My Fking MIND!

**ADULT CONTENT**

**Yes, this story is dark, dirty, and edgy at times. What Christian feels is TWISTED. **

**He's torn, willing if not wanting to do whatever it takes to possess Ana.**

**If messed up, dangerous explosive passion isn't your thing, don't read.**

**There are plenty of awesome FSOG versions. God I love them! **

**THIS ISN'T ONE OF THEM.**

**If you come through this door, better be prepared for what awaits you on the other side.**

**Thank, thank you for reading and your support. It's been hard to write and share something this raw and cutting.**

**This is my art form.**

**Art isn't always pretty. And I won't pretend, neither is this.**

**Namaste.**

_**Losing My Fucking Mind**_

STEELE SHOUTS my name, her pussy is clenching my cock and I do what I swore I wouldn't do again. I'm giving her a euphoric rush. And fuck, for all the wrong reasons. This isn't about getting a girl off who wants this type of orgasm—this is me being a selfish cocksucking prick.

And fuck. I can't stop.

Drowning in my hunger to own her, I curl my fingers tighter. And a little tighter as I watch her eyelashes flutter and let her milk my cock. Each thrust I deliver is harder as I calculate how far over the edge to take up both.

"Come for me," I command her and realign my fingers with the pulsing artery along her slender neck.

Her silk skin is warm under my fingers…so slight is her neck, I can encircle from one side to the other with one of my hands. A little pressure from someone who knows what the fuck they're doing and I give her a taste of rapture.

I inhale and yank her hair, gasping for breath myself, leaning over her and thrusting my throbbing cock inside her pussy, fighting to regulate my tempo. Yeah, she arches against me with her pale, toned body, begging for more and I give it to her. I'm fucking her full throttle with my rod, controlling the blood flow to her brain as her translucent eyes roll upward.

I'm giving Steele the best climax of her life as I ride her into bliss and oblivion. Screw me, I'm not far behind. An electrical charge jets up my spine, tingling darts tearing across my skin. My muscles constrict, I'm so close to the edge. Holy fuck, the pressure in my balls builds, and a fire ignites, and I'm there. Tripping with Steele as I come, harder than I've ever released.

"Baby," I stutter out, holding onto her neck and a fistful of her silky hair, her legs draped over my shoulders.

She moans my name and goes limb. Sweat drips in torrents down my face and I shudder in pleasure-ripping satisfaction. My abs clench as I shoot cum out my cock. Not once but again. Holy fucking Jesus! This girl…who the hell is she?

My heart beats faster than a war drum and I suck in mouthfuls of air. Rapid gulps. Releasing my hold on her neck and hair, I'm shaky. The feel of her—controlling her—is my head rush. Lowering her legs, I lean forward, planting a kiss on her mouth, slightly sucking on her incredible bottom lip.

Her breathing is deep—yeah, she's sexually sated—after our carnal blitz.

I roll onto the mattress next to her. The dumping of adrenaline into my system is a blaring signal. There will be no pretense that fucking Steele is predictable—not if I know what's good for me. I rake my fingers through my sweat soaked hair, staring up at the ceiling. Instead of reveling in satisfaction, I want to fuck her again. My cock twitches.

_What the hell have I just done?_

This type of sex isn't supposed to spill into my life outside the _Clubhouse._ My kink is supposed to be contained in my club for likeminded members—congressional representatives from the Hill. At the '_House_' I'm the contracted Dom for Saturday nights—or rather was—currently, the only Dom on hiatus. Besides Noah, Ethan, and Jax, there's Wesley, Jude, and Gab. All business partners and known within our privileged empire as the Gang of Seven—a Dom for everyday of the week—and a sardonic spin on another ballbuster congressional gang.

The supreme _Clubhouse_ rule demands we don't do what can ruin us beyond the walls of our secretive society. Inside our elite club, the rule is there are no rules beyond membership bylaws. No one underage admitted and each person signs an ironclad non-disclosure contract. With a fulltime managerial staff, we specialize in delivering up hardcore fantasies within a renovated farmhouse at 633 Glendale Road, Maryland.

Outside the wrought iron fence surrounding the _House_, a regular universe exists where there are scads of rules on decorum that an inducted Dom has sworn to abide.

Even rules for what to do in a hotel room.

Tonight, I crossed the line and broke an insane number of rules that I swore to uphold as part owner of the Clubhouse.

No sex with staff.

No edge play outside the club.

Fuck! Clearly, this type of sex is dangerous in the wrong hands. But worse, engaging in this type of edge sex without a safety net is unforgivable. The fallout too great. Fuck, it's too risky for someone in my position with a girl who could turn on me come tomorrow. _Why'd I do it?_

I glance over at Steele and visually trace the silhouette of her traffic stopping profile backlit by the bathroom light that we left on. From her face down to her round tits and all the way down to her taut belly and the space between her splayed legs where I've sampled the best pussy, she rocks my world. My hard-on is throbbing for another round.

For now, she's out of it. Will be for a while… unless I rouse her for an encore performance. But I can't risk breaking any more rules, not tonight. I'm a hairsbreadth away from banging her again unless I get up and leave. My traitor dick pulses at the ludicrous idea of leaving her bed. Clenching my jaw, refusing to allow that fucker to counterman any more of my decisions, I roll away from her and sit, scrubbing my hand down my face.

With my head so far up my ass, again, I swing my legs off the side of the bed before I touch her and shit, I want to. Stepping onto the carpet, I rip off my condom on my way to the bathroom. Tossing it in the toilet, I flush away evidence—something Clinton should have done. Not that I'm any better with an intern I just fucked hard in a hotel bed. Hindsight might be twenty-twenty, but in reality, given the chance, I'd fuck Steele again. And again. She's responsive, spunky, and gives as good as she gets.

I reach for my boxers and trousers, dressing quickly. I glance at the bed and stare down at her, at her body dressed in a bra, garter and those sexy shoes. My dick hardens and my sense of what must be done rips apart, into a million directions. I'm so screwed.

I frown, lifting my shirt and remember her dress. Shit! It's ripped. Did she bring extra clothes? Tonight has the makings of insanity written all over it. The more I contemplate the threads of risk that exist in keeping what we've done under wraps, the faster my pulse races.

I fully realize this should be a zero-time deal, and shouldn't continue. Tell that to my twisted hunger for this girl that's shredding my sense of self-preservation.

Have I lost all my marbles? It's been two months since I first set eyes on her, a slew of months since I last engaged in this type of hardcore sex and back then, I didn't have a campaign in full swing. _No, you had a lunatic on your case._

I slip my belt through the loops, the leather twisting in my hands, and I refuse to think about Leila, the last sub I contracted with…a member of the Clubhouse, manipulative, and a senator—but nothing like me. She two-timed my ass, and her other partner ended up dead. _Fuck, don't go there, Christian_.

Obviously, I'm a prick to point fingers. From moment I set eyes on Anastasia, my unofficial hiatus unraveled. One heated kiss in a hall, and this girl had me. Tonight, common sense would say I should have taken a cab from the airport. I look down at my newest intern and realize, fuck…I've got no remorse where she's concerned. If anything I'm hungrier than the first time we kissed, the last time we fucked, now aware of how good her pussy feels, I've got to have her.

Splayed open, I'm assured this isn't the last time my cock will own her.

Steele's far different than Leila, and that's part in parcel of the problem I'm battling. I don't fear bumping into that Leila on the Hill—it's how to satisfy my sexual appetite for hardcore when I take Steele back to D.C. Now that I've found her—like an addict, I need another hard hit. But why her of all people?

For months, after cutting all ties with Leila, the threat of a scandal blew me away—far away and I broke away from the House. The hiatus has worked in my favor, giving me more time to focus on my campaign.

Before tonight, any hint of scandal had me backtracking.

There are no strings for what goes on in the House.

No names.

No commitments.

No backlash. There's only rough unadulterated sex.

If I wanted hardcore sex, minimizing the risk, I should have waited. I'd be back in D.C. in hours. But the way Steele reappeared in my life, seeing her was like encountering a magnetic force field that is growing stronger—more powerful with her snappy comments and stubbornness. This slip of a girl has me wanting to come at her with everything I've got. In all my thirty-six years I don't believe I have ever encountered anyone like Anastasia Steele. Fuck, she pushes my buttons and we've only just met.

Now, I have the pleasure of working with her for the next month…unless she wakes up and decides to throw me under the bus.

Picking up the covers off the floor, I walk around to the opposite side of the bed, and gingerly arrange them over her sleeping form. She doesn't stir and I brush back a few stray strands of her hair. God, she's beautiful and I close my eyes, aware that she's the opposite of what I need career wise. I inhale, and stop touching her face.

Backing away, I see her shoe peeking from the bottom edge of the blanket. Shit, I'd better remove her heels. Kneeling down on one knee, I hoist the covers, and examine the tiny buckles along the ankle strap. I pinch the narrow band of black leather which requires my utmost concentration to unbuckle. Or is it that her gorgeous legs are a compelling distraction? Affirmed when my gaze keeps wandering up her calves.

I set her shoes next to the bed and yank the covers down over her feet, pissed that this girl has got me between a rock and a hard place.

We'll be in close quarters for the next week, at least, and I can't deny being in striking distance of her will be at best taxing. Worse if I deny this hunger. It's either can this whole idea of taking her back to D.C. right now, or figure a plan of how to make it work. I want my slice of cake and I'm damn well going to enjoy eating Steele too. Lost in thought, I rise and slip on my shoes without my socks, and spot her card key.

Shit, I need to get mine, but I don't see it. It's probably inside her bag and I go to the bureau, opening her purse. I can feel my eyes widen…Christ, the woman has a mini-office here. She's brought folders, a laptop, an iPad, and not one but two iPhones. _Over indulged much?_

I rifle through the pockets, but no key and feel the muscles of neck tighten. I spot her wallet and figure, what the hell. It's not like I'm snooping to find out her dirty little secrets. I open it, scanning the contents. An Amex card, B.C. student ID, driver license. I flip the leather flap and tighten my brow as I study the photograph of Steele and some dude. He's familiar but wearing sunglasses so I can't—holy fuck. It's Jon, our driver, with his arm thrown around her shoulders and she's got her head tipped up and she's laughing.

It shouldn't matter that the volunteer is a friend of hers. We didn't do anything in the backseat and I sure as shit kept all of my actions above board. Rapidly I try and recall the whole trip from the airport to the coffee house, and then to the hotel—nothing outlandish comes to mind. Okay, I tell myself. So, they're friends. No big deal.

Only I'm clenching my jaw, and staring at the way she looks so open…so happy, and I recognize this is me getting a little upset.

Fuck! No, I'm not. Matter of fact, that sentiment can go straight to hell. I train my focus on finding a piece of white plastic, not who and what interests Ms. Steele.

Bingo. I find the other room key and drop her wallet back into the recesses of her bag. I smirk, telling myself if Jon was so important to her, she wouldn't have ended up naked and in bed with me. Right? And then I wonder how recently she fucked him. _Christ! Stop, Grey._

In that moment, I get that Steele isn't some passing interest of mine. And if anyone is going to fuck her, it will me. _ONLY ME!_

Glancing over my shoulder, I can see the edge of a plan forming and I dig for my phone inside my pocket as I exit Steele's room. Out in the hall, I scroll through my contacts as I walk toward my suite. My room is a couple doors down and I enter then dial.

"As I live and breathe. Are you back in town, Senator Grey?" Jax answers with his low Texan drawl. I know I haven't woken him. Not with the running of the House. Tonight is Jax's turn to showcase his talents. We all had a night to run, manage, and staff the House; that was until I took an extended break. The other members understand and have picked up the slack.

"I want back in. Rumor has it, my night is still available."

"It is," Jax exhaled. "Damn, I never believed for a second that you'd leave us altogether."

"Had to get my head on and now, I've got a _situation_…" I don't know how else to classify my predicament. "A girl whose new and I want to break her in."

"Nothing to get riled about. Shit, a new member. We're taxed to the limit, but if she's your sub, we'll adjust. No problem if it means you're back in the fold."

I inhale, assessing how much I should tell Jax. He and I go way back and I know as much about him as he knows about me. "We both went over the edge."

"How far over the line?" His voice drops down an octave.

"No harm, but if I don't contain this fucking thing, it's gonna get out of control between this girl and myself. Can you put her on the schedule? For this weekend?"

Silence. He must be considering something. "You understand she has to be willing and you say she's got no experience. Has she ever been to a sub-contracting ceremony?"

Steele, standing naked as men or women bid on her… I doubt she's been to this kind of club, forget being claimed in a privately orchestrated auction of submissives. I'd bet my senate seat on that, but in all truth I don't know shit about her. Other than if her family found out what I planned on doing with her, they'll hire a hit man to take me out. There are plenty of wealthy and powerful men and women who require the secrecy of the House, but none are from media-hyped dynasties of old money, extreme wealth and power that basically run this country.

There are unwritten rules for those like Steele, and I'm about to re-write the playbook if I can coerce Jax to act as her keeper in an auction where I'll secure the rights to own her. Controlling her within the House for as long as she and I both agree to the exclusive terms of a mutual—albeit secretive—contract. The muscles over my shoulders and down my arms tighten.

"Put her on the books under my name. I'll take care of the details."

"Consider it done. What about a pick-up on Saturday evening?"

Here's where it becomes dicey. "Jax, I want you to be her keeper for the night."

"Holy hell…" His words cut yet I don't offer more. "Only for you. I'm booked but I'll deal with shuffling my own appointments."

"Man, I appreciate this," I offer up, leaning against the desk inside my suite.

"Boy, how can I refuse you of all people?" He laughs, then says, "I owe you."

"I'll text you the location. And thanks."

"Naw. You've done me plenty of favors. This will be my pleasure. Uh…what's the girl's name?"

This isn't the time for total transparency. It'll be difficult enough when I have to admit to Jax that Anastasia is a Steele and also my intern. I look at the ceiling and reply, "X.S."

"_Excess_?" he asks. "As in overabundance?"

"Not exactly." I chuckle at the idea. It is apropos given her temperament and what I bet is her experience with living in luxury. Yeah, whatever captivates her interest she more than likely goes after and gets. "As in the letters 'X' and 'S,'" I inform him.

"Sound mysterious," he replies.

"Let's leave it at that," I tell him and wait.

"Enough said. I've got you and take care, Christian."

We hang up and I reopen my contacts, typing a message to a man I engage to uncover information. He's useful in determining the pros and cons of accepting a submissive—for one thing. Steele would cut off my balls and feed them to me if she knew I was hacking into her personal life.

Archer basically barks. "Fuck, don't you ever sleep!"

"You know what they say about the wicked."

"Shit, yeah, and you're one wicked motherfucker!"

"Need you to run a check. Like yesterday. Can you do it?"

His audible exhalation is loud. Clear. This is gonna cost me. "Who?

I walk toward the sofa but instead of sitting, I pace. "Anastasia. Stillman. Steele."

"What the fuck are you tapping into, Grey?"

"This is totally on the QT and I don't want any possible tracks."

"Shit. I'm not stupid. Not with those ballbusters."

"Anything special?"

I roll my chin, cracking my neck. "Pull her medicals. Recent blood tests. You've got…" I glance at the clock. It's after midnight. "Three hours."

"I'm on it." He hangs up and I walk into the bedroom, dropping down onto the bed.

This girl has me doing shit I haven't done before. And I get… fuck do I get…I'm losing my goddamn mind in how far I'll go to claim her as MINE!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~MORE OF THE SENATOR to come!

Okay from here on out each chapter will have these to near the edge. Question is how far will they go? How far would you go for someone you knew was so right and so wrong?

I can't say it enough: **Thank, thank you for reading and your support.**

**I almost didn't post this story and the next book is as dark and twisted as the last chapter. I'm writing it now and am not wimping out, not listening to the voice that says 'don't write that…'! Well after yesterday and the support you've shown, I sure as shit am!**


	10. NO WAY IN HELL

_**No Way In Hell…Unless I Get Directions**_

**HOLY CRAP**. I lurch upright in bed, letting the sheet fall away from my body, and check out the other side of the mattress.

Empty.

Why am I not surprised?

Christian is gone and for a second, I actually question if what I remember—the rough, raw, screaming sex—is some warped decadent fantasy where the man I'm supposed to begin an internship under, fucked me senseless. And I do mean senseless. My body has telltales that Senator Grey between my legs was real. Very, very real.

From wanting to kiss him, I become possessed with a carnal craving. One erotic mission, and when he proposed one night. He didn't have to ask twice.

I wanted him in New York and seeing him again, I lost my head. That has to be why I did what I did. Let him do me—like no other. Pushing my knees together, I absorb how sore I am between my legs, and oh God. I long for another round of him riding me rough.

My clit pulses. I can't deny that I want him deep inside me again. Rubbing my hands down my face, I groan, "Fuck!"

I'm so so screwed. Leaning over, I press my forehead into my palms and cradle my head, rocking forward and backward for several seconds, and trying not to hyperventilate.

"Oh shit. Ooooh shit." I repeat those two words about two hundred times until I'm frazzled, my nerves frayed.

This rocking nonsense has to stop…it's making this sensation of having mucked up my entire life solidify. Messing up my life, not going to happen. It can't.

Okay, what I need is a line of logical thinking, not me on a meltdown loop of oh-holy-shit chorusing through my brain. First things first. What should I do? I can't stop thinking about what I did—the recap is mind-boggling.

I feel a bubbling laugh creep up my throat like this just couldn't be real—couldn't be happening to me—but… It. Is. Fumbling, I shift my gaze, wearily around the room.

_What time is it?_ Outside it's still dark but the silvery filaments of dawn, streak high enough to be seen on the eleventh floor. The clock isn't on the nightstand—it's face down on the floor. I scoot off the bed, touching my toes to the carpet, and kick one of my shoes. Shoes…then immediately I recall my last memory. Christian's broad shoulders under my legs and me wearing these shoes.

Pushing aside the way it felt to have my brains fucked to pieces, I lift the clock off the floor. It's just five am. I walk a line toward the bureau across the room, forcing myself not to think about Christian banging me—not helping that the muscles all over my body are deliciously sore. Christ, even my ass cheeks burn.

Feels like we fucked for hours. Days.

I stumble forward, drunk from the delectable sex we shared, and I plant my hands on the bureau next to my purse. I've got to get my head out of the clouds and into what needs to be done to salvage my future.

Lifting my head, I peer at myself in the mirror and oh dear God, I look like the poster child for crazy bedhead hair. If I'd teased my hair for a week, I doubt I could I get this same effect. I run my fingers through my knotted hair, over the tender spots on my head where Christian yanked on my hair. My focus narrows. I suck in my breath as my gaze alights on the dark marks on my neck.

_Are those where he squeezed?_ I have had a hickey or two before and these aren't those.

On either side of my throat are impressions of where his fingers pressed. I turn my chin from side-to-side and yeah, I can feel the evidence that what we did isn't imaginary or overblown in the aftermath of rough, raw sex. That man did something to me—something euphoric—and I shiver, swallowing a gasp. A sliver of fears works up my spine. Not derived from what we did but from the fact that I want him to do it again.

Leaning against the edge of the bureau, I close my eyes, fighting this carnal hunger, a serpentine coil of erotic lust, crawling under my skin. I can't be feeling this. I've got to look for a ledge, some place to hook and reel in my senses. I'm not a woman searching for a guy to manhandle her to the point of blacking out.

_Am I? _There goes that voice again. The one that got me into this mess. Flashing open my eyes, I snort an emphatic, "No!"

I can if I break this into manageable parts. Slowly, I inhale and think in objective terms. This is a problem…. a project, and what's most troublesome?

First and foremost, I can't risk my sanity and my reputation if this gets out. I was insane to think that in the morning, this would be hunky-dory. I remind myself, spilled milk. Get past shooting myself in the fucking foot.

Then the problem becomes can I seriously consider going to D.C.?

A big irrational checkmark flares inside my head. I am. I actually, actually am.

I hunger for inspiration and that's what he does to those around.

I'm so worn out doing the 'survival mode' or the 'accept my life sucks' mode_. Or worse, let my grandparents take the reins and control me mode._

Glancing down, I spy my tattered dress lying in a heap on the floor and I definitely recall the thrill of having it torn off my body. A reminder that Christian Grey isn't the type of man anyone controls. He's a double-shot of self-confidence and with his air of authority, I could learn a lot from him.

Or get run over trying. The trick with a force like him is no different than preparing for a natural disaster. Sure, I could say, _I'm not going to stick around and find out!_

But deep inside I want to.

Christian is so different than anyone I've ever met. I don't run away from my grandparents, I slink feeling so weighed down. So oppressed. Opposite to how and why I'm ready to bolt away from Grey—and that's a world of difference.

He's strong. Magnetizing. Vibrant. A reason why I couldn't seem to say no even though every atom in my body was and is in a carnal war. Am I going to run away from the one man who might teach me to stand on my own two feet around people who believe—rightfully—that they own or can buy anyone they choose? I love my grandparents but I don't respect them.

And Christian—I relish fighting him… because I respect him. He's like some huge ass mountain that no one has climbed. Yet. My own personal Kilimanjaro. He fills my whole being with a sense of purpose that is beyond a bed.

So, if I'm set on swimming within this river of wanton lust, while suppressing an iceberg of erotic hunger, what can I do to head off disaster?

Start with the basics like primary needs. For me, right now, it's clothing.

I need to get home, shower, and change. I see the bigger picture unfold. I can't even leave this room. Bending down to retrieve my dress, I can't believe Christian rendered it completely from top to hem. Of all the times to be without my car and no extra clothes. I glance at his jacket and walk over, picking up the dark sleeve. Light wool and it'll work if I can do something with my dress to keep it from peeling wide open.

I hold out my dress again and remember I do have a stapler and tape in my bag.

EXITING THE elevator, I'm careful in how I plant each of my high heels, focusing on silent steps in my panty-less trek across the lobby. Early morning hours and I've managed to contain my bird's nest hair in a tight bun and my dress is fastened together—barely. As long as I don't inhale too deeply or snag it on something, I'll be just fine.

A man jostling two bundles of newspapers enters through the automatic doors. Abruptly he stands back, smiling and allowing me to pass outside into the chilly predawn air.

It must have rained last night. Along the asphalt, I'm leaving silent footprints in the sheen of dew coating the ground. With each step away from the Hyatt, my heart trips fast and faster still. Lucky for me, there's a taxi at the corner and the driver has just exited. His light is off but there's a billowing cloud of exhaust as he stands, puffing on a cigarette next to the driver's door.

"Excuse me," I say, panting and stopping in front of the driver.

He trains his gaze on me and flicks his cigarette away. "What can I do for you?"

My teeth clatter even though it's a summer morning, and I enfold my arms closer together across my chest, a barrier against the cool bay air. "Looking for a taxi. By any chance are you available?"

"Where to?" He cocks his head, waiting to hear my reply before answering. Smart man.

"Beacon Street."

His eyes widen and he straightens, nodding. "Sure thing. Hop in. There's hardly any traffic on Storrow at this time."

"Great," I say, shivering as he opens the backseat door.

The cab ride is brief and I remove a crisp fifty dollar bill. "Wait for me and there's another. I just need to grab a few things and I'll be right back."

"Then where to?" The cabbie asks.

"Back to the Hyatt."

"I'll be here," he replies, his expression morphing into surprise but he keeps his lips buttoned.

The doorman tips his hat and I smile, greeting him by name and breezing past. I could stop and chat but I don't have time. Upstairs I enter my apartment that is quiet as a tomb. It's only me in my boss's Brooks Brothers' jacket that I slip off, folding it over the arm of the sofa.

I head into the bathroom where I stop as I get an eyeful of my bare ass cheeks in the vanity mirror. Turning around, I glance over one shoulder, pivot and glance over my other shoulder, studying my rear. The red marks are angry stripes and I exhale sharply. Grey didn't just spank me. He striped my bottom, leaving belt marks and bruises that aren't likely to disappear in a day, let alone a week. Christian Grey is a controlling…what's the term? _Dominant._

"Dom," I say out loud and yeah, without knowing what it entails—the term fits him.

Am I perverse in liking the way he commandeers me in bed? Using an erotic hold so tight I blacked out? But he didn't seem to be acting irrationally. And that's part of the Christian Grey package I get. He's solid—nearly unshakable. He knew what he was doing—clearly I'm not the first woman he's pleasured this way. His words explode in my head_: I promise, I'll take you over the edge into a world few ever get to visit._

Holy fuck…what's he into? Senator Grey has secrets. Dark, erotic secrets.

I open the glass-walled shower and turn on the water to scalding. I love hot showers and for minutes, I stand under the jet streams until my thoughts subside into a low roar as I decide that Christian with the highflying political aspirations has some explaining to do. Inside my shower, under the pelting water, I touch my skin, soapy and slick, and relive how it felt to be fondled by Christian. No not fondled—manhandled. Commanded. Forced to take him as he fucked me from behind, pulling my hair.

I stop the stranglehold I have on escaping a scorching reminiscing of his ability to own my body. Instead, I'm searching, scouring for any and all clues what he has—why he has this hold on me. For seconds, I give into how amazing he made me feel. Over my breasts, I squeeze out a stream of lather, dripping bubbles down my nipples as a soapy line runs down my belly and between my thighs. I drop the sponge, following the bubbly route with my fingers, closing my eyes, and think of his large hands on my body. I'm too tender in my touch. I hunger for harder and I pinch my nipples, recounting that's more like Christian's rough touch. Bruising.

That's what I want, not soft.

Not sweet.

I want him. I sway, placing a soapy palm against the tile in front of my face. I want too much. I want it all. I'm greedy and he knows that.

This has to stop.

Stop as in _right now_!

Gran's words ring in my ears about coarse behavior—about Aunt Gertie's out of control libido. _Stillmans don't do scandal_.

Well sorry to say, apparently _we_ do—I've joined the disreputable ranks when faced with a gorgeously arresting senator who could rip the panties off a girl—this girl to be exact. Senator Grey with his million dollar smile and his expert mouth…he'd bitten my skin, leaving a trail of marks that even the soap suds did nothing to hide. He's offering me a doorway—he's giving me the keys. If I'm brave enough to take what he offers, the benefits could be astronomical. _But so can the risks!_

Rinsing off, I stand under the scalding water as the suds wash away from my hair, down my body, and down the drain.

But not the memory of Christian fucking me.

Owning me.

Leaving me looking like I was in a car wreck. I have to get my act together, a plan in place on how to get exactly what I want. Turning off the water, I wipe droplets from my eyes, vowing once I step outside this shower stall, that's it.

No fucking wimping out!

Peering at the foggy glass, I can't see much beyond…I'm partially blinded. A good reminder that I need my instincts as much as my sight. I don't know if it's possible to exit my shower, and be in control… like the control Christian exercises over me.

He was the one who talked about teaching me _self-control_. This equation is so many shades crazy but the solution is perfect—and only one question remains: where do I start? An alarm prickles my giddy elation. This idea, the reality of letting him control me—is indisputably a dangerous situation, capable of landing us both in trouble.

And then I falter—both mentally and as I hold onto the shower door. I wonder why is Christian willing to play with fire? If he's so into control.

But is he? Are we a precarious situation for a man like him? There's something I'm not seeing. He's like Gran with her safety net.

_If I'm not going to talk_. _And he's not going to talk_…

Still…this is totally insane.

Hardcore fucking with a U.S. Senator? Wake up! In a second of reflective thinking, I jump to the opposite end of the spectrum, vacillating back and forth between two choices; there's simply no grey here. Sex—great out-of-this world sex—or nothing.

_Am I going to end up needing Gran's team of attorneys?_ The whispered subject behind closed Nantucket doors? Discussed—safe-guarded—and owned.

Fuck no!If Christian and I both contain what we did last night, and agree not to do each other again…who'd find out? _Christ. Is that what I want?_

When faced with the choice…I can't become another Aunt Gertrude, and keeping this secret isn't hard if I don't allow myself to become overwhelmed…another time.

All that's required is something so simple. Something really commonplace. No more sex and I recoup any potential earth shattering control he seeks to exert over me. I can learn from him with my clothes on. All of them.

Plan in place!

_Right._ That voice is back and I grit my teeth.

"Better believe it!" I say with greater conviction than I feel, pushing open the shower door, walking out along within a billowing cloud of steam.

INSIDE THE cab, I'm rocketing back through Sumner Tunnel when my phone chirps, and from the dimly lit backseat I lift my cell out of my bag and press 'answer.'

"Hey, José ," I say feeling my stomach twist. I know he's going to ask how things went last night so I take the offensive, and launch into my prepared sound bite. "We worked late into the night. You're right. Senator Grey's a regular ballbuster."

"No mystery there," he replies, laughing. "He's gorgeous, arrogant, and rich. What'd you expect?"

"Nothing," I blurt, "Why?"

"Err…I think he likes you."

"Likes me? I don't know where you got that impression." I gasp, trying to see where this conversation is headed and how to escape.

José snorts. "Because, love bug, you two butting heads is something our popular Senator doesn't encounter I'd wager, and he seemed taken by your sass…in a good way."

"He's a taskmaster. I had to run home to shower and change," I choke out, and let go a shaky laugh. "We can't discuss him beyond anything aboveboard. That note you wrote…_intimate staff_ nonsense!"

"Shit. I'm sorry. I almost lost it yesterday when I saw him holding it. You're right. No more innuendos where you and Senator Grey are concerned."

"What about you?"

"I'm getting ready to come and pick you both up."

"Good to hear," I say, thinking about the day ahead rather than obsessing about Christian who might be naked in bed.

"Guess where I'm going to do my dirty work next week for the _Post_?"

I swallow and think—glad to focus on something other than Grey. "Veep's office?"

"I wish."

José 's been all over D.C. His new piece could target any number of people. "I don't know. Where?"

"Speaker's office. The Honorable Jackson Carter," he shouts so loud my eardrum stung. "We're going to be together. Can you fucking believe it?"

Yes I can. I should have expected it. He's been hot and heavy on doing another piece on the Hill so we can hang out together. I owe him…in so many ways; just wish he wasn't so watchful. No way can I act like that isn't the best thing since sliced bread, but I'm nervous about the 'when and if' we hookup anywhere near the Hill. He might see a sign—something in my face. _Well, Ana then today's practice session should go over smooth as silk!_

"I'm speechless." I'm more than speechless, I'm stunned. Where is Jackson Carter's office in relation to Christian's? I hope miles away. Grey is at the Russell Senate office building, and I wrack my brain. _Where is Carter's office?_

Calm down, I tell myself. The likelihood that Carter and Grey do much together has to be infinitesimal. The senators and representatives have offices in distinct and separate buildings, and Carter being the Speaker, he had to be up to his eyeballs in Capitol crap to engage in a walkabout aimlessly. Speaker Carter and Grey are in different parties, different committees, ergo different worlds.

Casually, I inquire, "So where is the speaker's office exactly?"

José replies without missing a beat, "House Office Building. 1011 Longworth. I already memorized the address. I've been trolling him since I heard late last night, and geez louise, he's a hottie—"

"Wait a second. What happened with Mitch?" I ask.

"Does the term an extended one-night stand sound familiar?"

"Oh…" I say slowly, knowing that José has had many _extended one-nighters_. "Well, he is married."

"Doesn't matter. Not with you coming to D.C. and both of us on the Hill. The speaker is gorgeous enough to take my mind off of one scalding attorney."

Even though we're friends and I feel for José , I can't sit through listening to him fantasize about his future interviewee after what I've done, and cut him off, cringing at being so rude. But tough times bring out the ruthless side of me.

"Pretty amazing! Glad to hear that we're both getting in spur-of-the-moment Hill exposure." A blast of heat scalds my cheeks, and I roll my eyes, reminding myself clearly this is why a girl doesn't do her boss. Ever.

"More than exposure. I'm doing some digging. My editor wants me to find something titillating that will rock the press. Got any ideas? What's Grey into?"

"How would I know? We just met," I reply, clasping my fingers tightly around my cell.

"Not an inkling? Did he try anything with you?"

"You're the one who said he doesn't do staffers…or interns. Does he?"

"No—of course not! My editor sometimes drives me crazy. Our readership has dropped and everyone is being called on the carpet to dig and I do mean, deep."

"Like tabloid stuff? You can't be serious!"

"Hey, I don't decide which theme the Post is running after. They have consumer groups and apparently a scandal would entice our readership. It's what the candidates start to do after the initial debates. You know. Mudsling a little."

"Jesus, José ! I want no part in that. Promise me. I'm going to the Hill to make my mark…not to become infamous in some debacle."

"Never. Fear! I've got your back. When have I failed you?"

I have to admit, never.

"You're right. You're true blue," I say, and watch the blinking lights of the tunnel flash by.

"Pick you up in about an hour. Maybe I can do a quasi-interview with Grey. Did you guys talk about me? At all?"

"No. We went over campaign strategy and you know that's off limits to report before it's official. I just started and my lips are sealed." I'm so glad he can't see my face turning all shades of hot and burning as tiny darts of perspiration break at my hairline.

The taxi exits the tunnel and the hotel is up ahead, looming in the distance. So much for arriving calm and collect. It's seventy degrees outside and I'm sweating bullets in the backseat. "Call me when you get to the hotel and thanks for what you did. You know with Grey's office and the connection." My stomach pitches at the thought.

"Just like the old saying: what goes around, comes around. Hey, speaking of which, see if you can get me an interview," José replies sharply. "Or I can go about doing it myself. I just need a bone to throw my editor in saying I'm researching flesh-n-blood sources."

"Okay," I huff, before hanging up and not knowing why him talking to Christian would be a problem. _Well, maybe because José is looking for dirt!_ "Gotta run. The senator has a full day. Early morning meeting and I have to hit the ground at full speed."

"I'll be there soon." And he's gone.

The driver announces, "Almost there, Miss. Don't worry, I'll get you curbside so you don't get your shoes wet."

"Appreciate it. A lot." I glance out the window as the cab pulls up to the circular drive of the hotel. Gathering my bag, I sit up and feel my whole body convulse at the thought in a few minutes, I'll be face-to-face with Christian.

We stop right at the front steps as promised and the driver is out, coming to get my door. The tangy bay air, now warmer than earlier this morning, pours in awakening my nerves—not that the promise of seeing Grey hasn't already got my panties in a twist.

I pay the driver as we stand in the front entrance and he hands me my carry-on, then lifts his cap before exiting. Putting away my wallet, I stop and take it out again. Grey's hotel room key was right here last night. Oh shit. That means Grey searched inside my wallet. I stare at the picture of José and me, wondering if the senator noticed it. What would he even think? Possibly, that I was up to something in having a friend do our driving? Or that I was less than professional? I'd alerted Nora that José was my connection and she seemed fine—relieved that the rental car fiasco had worked out. Why would Grey care?

Before dropping my wallet a second time into the confines of my bag, I remove my own key card. Walking across the lobby, I get the distinct impression I'm being watched. Wouldn't be the first time, and shift my focus toward the source of my discomfort.

_Bite me._

My gaze locks with a smoky set of eyes and Christian raises his mug in my direction, wearing a smug grin. I feel the familiar jolt of recognize jettison within my body. He lowers the mug and quirks his brow as if in challenge. Rising from his table out in the section of the lobby where people go to read and watch the news, he buttons his jacket and advances on me. All my newfound sense of I can handle Grey like no other disappear. Gone!

With his clean-shaven face and combed damp hair, he looks the part of distinguished congressman, leaving no question in my mind why he won Cosmo's _sexiest senator contest_.

"Good morning, Ms. Steele. I trust you _slept_ well," he says with the cockiest grin known to mankind.

"_Sleep_," I repeat as though the term is foreign. For all my plans, his greeting dismantles my foremost objective in not revisiting last night.

"Yes. You did manage to get some sleep. Didn't you?" He breaks eye contact, letting his gaze roam lower down my body.

I'm seething when he acts so cavalier and I'm coming apart at the seams. Fuck my plans. I have to know why he's got this hold on me. "What did you do to me last night?" I speak between gritted teeth and notice a gentleman seated across the way turns in our direction. "We need to talk!"

His gaze rebounds to mine and he nods. "Agreed. I wondered where you disappeared to. I went to your room, hoping we could…_talk_."

"I had to get dressed," I reply.

"Yes. I see." Grey's eyes lower to my chest and he leans closer, whispering, "Come with me."

"I'd rather not."

Our eyes lock and the smile vanishes from his face. We're inches apart—close enough for me to absorb the heat radiating off his body. "You will if I have to hoist you over my shoulder."

"Are you always going to be in 'dominating caveman' mode?"

"If that's what you require," he replies unfazed as we continue to gaze into each other's eyes. "Then yes."

"What the hell does that mean?" I whisper to him hoarsely.

Neither of us drops our gazes and he bends farther, coming near to me. The closer he comes, the hotter my face feels. An inch more and we'd be kissing. "Around you, it's what I hunger to do. I want to possess you. Entirely."

At his admission, a flush of heat prickles my neck. I brush my fingers against the scarf I'm wearing and immediately his eyes track the movement. He steps back a foot in front of me, still too close for comfort, and I can see his pupils dilate as we stare into each other's eyes. Christ, I can't breathe and my heart rate speeds up. Where is the end to this power he exudes over me?

"Stop," I choke out. "Don't play with me like I'm an idiot. I fully understand risk and danger when I'm face to face with a potential _mistake._ Sound familiar?"

"I won't hurt you." He stares down at me, a grimace steeling his features, and he looks like he's in pain or going to say something so ungainly and I stiffen.

"How can I be sure?"

"Jesus, I deserve that," he growls. "Give me five minutes."

"Why?" I ask, staring up at him in search of the truth…and sensing all that he offers and how much he could potentially take if I'm not careful.

"Still so stubborn," he rasps.

Before I can say yes or no or go to hell, he closes the distance between us, reaches and takes my bag. Christian swings around, his hand on my elbow, and says. "Better come with me."

I can either follow him. Or jerk my arm out of his grasp and watch him walk way. As if my feet have a mind of their own, I step forward, scissoring my legs to keep up with him. We're back at the elevator and he pumps the call button.

He glances over his shoulder and curses so softly I barely hear him speak, "Fuck."

"Why are you angry?" I ask, not understanding and fearing he might just say, forget all of this.

"I'm not angry. I'm hungry." He drags me close to him and leans down, glazing his lips over my cheek to my ear. "Are you on birth control?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Christian is up tomorrow.

Thank you so much if you've followed this story this far. This is the reflective chapter and tomorrow we're back to more of CG's need to dominate Ana in his unquestionable desire to own her completely.

Happy holidays if you're celebrating today. xo


	11. IT'S ABOUT HER MOUTH

ADULT CONTENT.

We're taking this chapter...all the way to the wall.

HAPPY DARK, FRIDAY.

**IT'S ABOUT HER MOUTH!**

**Christian Grey**

I HAD A PLAN. A damn good one until I got within thirty-six inches of her. Her being Anastasia Steele, and quickly becoming the bane of my existence. Seeing her walk into the lobby, and smile sweetly at the cab driver minutes ago, had me and my dick sitting up and taking notice.

But oh yeah, _I'm in control_. I most definitely am not in control as I stride across the lobby, grinding my back molars. Me and my jackass ego are fumbling, and to think, I'd imagined I was so going to own this game without breaking a sweat. The girl has me and has no clue.

Well, in about five seconds she's about to find out. And I open the goddamn door by asking about birth control. I don't fuck around without protection but with her, I hunger to have her skin-on-skin. If I'm going to last until Saturday, this is the only type of heat that'll assuage my appetite…pure friction and hardcore delivery. All I have to do is make it for three more days and then I'll claim her as my submissive. Own her tight little body. And repeatedly fuck her, all the way out of my system.

"Why is that any of your business?" she asks flippantly and her tone sets fire to each and every nerve ending I possess.

I turn and bring my mouth close to her ear, inhaling her incomparable scent. "Because what I'm so close to doing is something that could get us arrested. I'm going to fuck you up against the first wall we encounter if you're not careful. That's why." Standing on the first floor, in a hall, and I'm ready to find the first alcove and finish what I started in that club two months ago. I pull her closer, looking down the corridor for any possible place to haul her off to so I can fuck her senseless. The elevator chimes, stopping me in my tracks.

"Saved by the bell," she whispers.

"Not even close," I reply. "After you."

The gloves effectively have come off and if she gets in, then by rights she knows the score. I need to fuck. Her. I'm a cunt hair away from taking her in this elevator if that beautiful bitchy mouth of hers forces the issue.

What I need requires a locked door, only this time there will be no edge play. A forceful fuck. Her riding me rough. I grit my teeth at the thought of holding back from disciplining her, but I have to. As long as she gives me a dose…a torturous tease of her pussy, I'll last until Saturday. Then I'll have her and have my way.

We both gaze into each other's eyes and she narrows hers. "Good thing, you're such a spectacular lay. Otherwise, a question like that might get your face slapped."

"The day you slap my face, you'd better be prepared. Baby, you damn well know I slap back." I gesture to the open elevator doors and she notches her chin up, and surprises me by walking inside.

There's a sensual sway to her hips as I let my gaze rove down her body. The one I'm going to strip and lick for hours on end when we get to D.C. until I uncover each and every one of her little secrets. Clad in a tailored suit and scarf, she can't fool me. My memory is razor sharp where she's concerned. I have no idea what type of getup she's sporting underneath, but I note her shoes are the same spectacular version of suggestive heels she wore last night. No delicate ankle straps this time, but the slim heels make her feet arch provocatively while showcasing her long legs. And once again, she's wearing stockings and I'll bet my right nut, she has on another pair of lace garters—the ones I thought about as I'd jerked off during the night.

I walk inside and stand next to her. "You smell incredible," I murmur, giving her a cocky smile as I tap the screen of my cell and open a PDF file. "I smelled like you for hours and you can't imagine how hard it kept me."

"Tell me, do these lines work with the other women you seduce? Seriously, you don't have to try so hard…not with me."

"I don't seduce women," I say, wondering where this is headed, and the muscles along my shoulders and neck constrict.

"That's pretty grandiose. Why do girls flock to you and fall over when you flash your green eyes and smile?"

"Sweetheart, I meant, I don't pursue women. Period. And I certainly don't engage in one-night stands. Ever. You're the first."

"You're lying."

The elevator doors open and we don't move. "It's not a lie and if you'd care to follow me, I'm going to fuck you first and then we need to talk. Come up with a plan."

"Are you delusional?"

"After last night—maybe. Now let's go and I assume you can read and walk at the same time." I lift off the handrail, holding out my phone and my recent medical report is displayed on the screen. Curling my fingers around her elbow, I draw her to me as I exit the elevator. She doesn't fall in line as willingly as I'd like, but neither do I have the pleasure of a kicking and screaming woman to contend with. I lean close to her, lowering my voice. "Don't argue with me, Ana. We both want sex. We both like it extreme. I'm prepared to show you how far we can go and I promise, you won't regret letting me own your body."

She glances at my phone and her eyes widen. I watch her read and she looks up, nodding into my face. "I don't carry around a medical report."

"Last night, it wasn't my imagination, but you don't have much experience. Do you?"

"Does it matter?"

"When's the last time you were tested?" I ask, already informed of the answer thanks to Archer. Fuck, I'm a quasi-authority concerning this girl.

"June. I don't have anything…nor do I sleep around. Where are we going?" she asks, her eyes still wide as plates, and color staining her lovely face.

I don't let my gaze linger on her mouth or we won't make it down the hall. "Doesn't matter. Your room or mine?"

"Mine," she says and I nod.

"Give me your key."

We stop in front of the door and she lifts out the card. We're seconds away from a hardcore fuck. "Are you on birth control?" I envision having to keep from coming inside her and I clench my jaw. Can I if she admits she stopped taking her prescription? She didn't have any pills in her purse and she might be the type who is inconsistent if she's not involved. Fucking her ass after stripping it, would be stellar for me…not her.

"Yes. I am," she whispers, walking inside her hotel room.

With the door closed and locked, I follow her. "What kind?"

"A prescription, Mr. Nosy-Over-the-Top?"

"I like things tidy."

"Cough! Control freak."

"You should thank me." I lift a brow as she huffs, turning on her heel. I'm so close to hauling her back to me, and the hell with my ideas about no more edge play. "Where the fuck are you going?"

"Is this what you'll always do?" she pivots toward me, her eyes flicking fire down my face. "Order me around?"

She's asking about my need for control and I nod, admitting the truth. "This is part of what gets me off. Don't lie. You like it too."

"Are you fishing for a compliment?"

"Depends. Are you asking for a spanking?"

"Jesus. You win. So, what would you like me to do…_Sir?_"

My head snaps upward, and I stare across at her. I want to tell her to call me 'Master' or yeah, 'Sir' as I point to my feet. I want her kneeling down before me until I'm good and ready to let her stand. She's pushing me and I'm ready to let her inside my world. "Undress here. Down to your lingerie. And wait by the bed."

I walk past her, shedding my jacket as I go to the closet, quietly observing her. She's perfect for what I want. Removing a hanger, I place my jacket on it, returning the hanger to the rod. Soon, I'll teach her how to present herself. Naked, her forehead down. Ass in the air. Then I notice she's struggling to unzip her skirt and I cross the room, brush aside her fingers. "Let me."

"Don't rip it."

"Then don't argue," I murmur, refusing to admit that her flashing blue eyes and smart mouth get to me. It's the same tone that turns my cock into a lead pipe, and harder still with each eye roll she gifts me with.

For the love of God, I'm going to love meting out my discipline at the _House_ and allowing everyone to witness Ms. Steele's acceptance of my mastery over her. I lower her zipper expecting to see her creamy flesh, counting the seconds until a pair of tempting dimples wink at me from above her ass cheeks—the pair I traced with my thumbs last night… but fuck, she's wearing a slip. I stifle yet another harsh groan she exorcises from my gut, watching as she steps out of her skirt. I curl my fingers into fists, hungry to see her body bared to me. Only me.

Shit, I'm starting to question whether I'll be able to share the mere sight of her naked at the House? Allow other men to watch me take her as they jerk off. As they fuck other members. Sure they're in a private room with a viewing wall separating us from them. But can I share the least little bit of her?

I'm back to staring, slack jawed at the short slip she's got on. She removes her scarf, unbuttons her blouse, and when she bends, I get an entrancing view of her thighs, the hint of each curve of her ass cheeks. The slip rides up and I go rock solid, straining the zipper of my trousers. The muscles over my shoulders and arms constrict at the sight of the belt marks on her bottom. Fuck, I'm going to come in my pants and without waiting another second, I deal with my own clothing that consists of unbuckling my belt and lowering my zipper.

I walk to the bedside where she's waiting for me just as I asked. Her hair is caught up in a braid, excellent choice to wrap around my palm. This time, I'm hungry to take her, looking into her beautiful face. Lifting her chin, I look at the marks I've left. Jesus, in one evening, I've given her plenty to remember me by, and a load of reasons why edge play must be constrained to the House. She's got me willing to break rules and I'll need some safeguards to make certain we don't cross irreparable lines. Not health wise, but the things I could easily admit to her. Things that no one needs to hear coming from my mouth.

"Guess it's time for the wall. Ever been fucked hard standing up?" I don't wait for her answer, but reach out and curl my arm around her waist and with my free hand, I trail my fingers over her bottom, cupping one firm ass cheek in my palm.

"Stop talking and just do me," she retorts with her customary sass.

"Steele. Watch the tone!" I'm so close to smacking her supple cheek to remind her who's in charge. Walking her backward, I pin her to the wall, my cock throbbing and begging for relief. "Do you purposely seek to get me going?"

She stares up at me and raises a lovely eyebrow, right before she wraps her fingers around my shaft and gives me a hard tug. "Like I said, less talk. More action."

I pump my cock within the confines of her silky vise grip, relishing the fluttering sweep of her thumb along the underside of my crown. The feel of her fingers are perfect and I'm not sure I can or will last if I continue pumping my rod in her grip. She's doing it to me again, showing me I'm not going to win at the game of who can outlast the other. "Wrap your legs around me, Anastasia."

For a second, we stare at one another until she rolls her incredible lip between her teeth, and I get the impression that I'd like to feel her teeth on my skin. And that's all sorts of fucked up crazy talk. I'm not one to allow a woman to mark my body, less inclined to tolerate biting, scratching, or much touch at all.

But with Steele, I want to feel all of her—everything she's got to give. Can't say I'm surprised that here we are again, partially clothed and I'm ready to howl. All from her teasing touch.

Well two can play at this game. I slide my hand between her thighs, rubbing my index finger down her damp panties. Her eyes darken and I lower my mouth, skimming over her sweet smelling jaw. She breathes in shallow puffs and I ramp up the stakes, pushing aside the scrap of lace, covering her entrance, and tracing my finger across the seam of her pussy.

"So wet," I exhale the words, hungry to replace my finger along her flesh with my mouth, tongue, and teeth. I don't have enough hands for all that I want to do to this girl who has me scrambling. Full tilt.

I swipe my finger over her clit, a slow circle to show I'm the SOB who controls her pleasure. Her eyes, they lock onto mine. Just once, I remind myself as I withhold thrusting my finger deep inside her, giving her what she wants…what she needs. She wriggles her hips, and when she whimpers, I reward her. Flicking my finger over her clit, I press the pad of my thumb against her erect peak. Teaching her, if she submits, she'll find pleasure. Not too hard to learn—but then again, this girl is stubborn. "What do you need?" I ask her, pinching her clit between my fingers.

"Please…you know."

"If you fight me, then what you need may not be what you're expecting."

A battle wages within her, played out on her beautiful features. Does she realize how easy she is to read? Probably not. I wait, my fingers poised less than an inch from the mouth of her pussy. "Baby, just tell me what you need. This isn't a challenge of wills unless that's what you want to make it."

Her crystal eyes focus, intensely on me, and it's as if I feel her presence inside my body—inside my brain. "Please teach me."

I blink. I expected to hear her say 'touch' but that's not what she's asked for.

"Teach you?" I inhale, letting her request take root inside my mind as I gaze into her wide set eyes, admiring how clear her irises appear, even in the dimly lit room.

"Yeah. I want to learn to do what you do."

God, this girl is as predictable as nitroglycerine. "You're very smart," I say and spread her pussy lips, grazing my fingers in her wetness. I don't play but go right to her opening, sliding one solitary finger inside. Barely. Now is when I flat out demonstrate to her who runs this show and it's what she's boldly requested. I give her just the tip of my finger, a pulsing flicker and enjoy the flutter to her lids, the vein in her neck pulsing wildly. It's time to tease, tempt, absolutely, it's both our tortures—the ultimate lesson that she's asked for and I'm prepared to deliver.

"I'm so close," she shudders, squeezing my shoulders with her hands.

"What else do you need…besides a lesson in submitting?"

She catches her lip in between her teeth, fighting. Fuck, she keeps fighting and I'm the one teetering. My cock judders, pre cum dripping from my crown. We both want the same thing. But, shit, I'm not sure which one of us is going to bend…fuck. Break!

"C'mon, Steele. Give it to me. I need to get inside you, baby." I wait, holding my breath and exhale loudly when she nods. I must have said what she needed to hear.

She wraps her arms around my shoulders, and groans my name. "Christian. Do me."

I'm at the brink, hauling her thighs upward as her tight pussy teases my rod. "It's going to be hard. Fast. You need it like that."

"Yeah?" she asks, raising a perfectly arched brow as unblinking blue ice fuses with my gaze. The challenging note in her voice goes straight to my cock. "Sounds like you're talking about yourself."

I haven't even thrust once and I'm spurting pre cum—forget dripping. No way is she going to turn the tables on me. "Ask nicely," I direct her.

Her response is wordless. Old as fucking time. Arching, she rolls her hips, grazing her pussy over my cock. A damp strip of lace separates us but holy hell, this girl's teasing swipe against my shaft is so tangentially provocative, my nipples harden as my abs clench into tight bands that make taking a breath next to impossible. A searing hunger courses through my blood. Excitement slams through me from the power of knowing I control her pleasure. Her pain. Without a condom, I'm tripping by my craving for skin-on-skin contact. She's wet. Hot. I need to get inside her. Now.

"Oh you want to tease? Would you rather begin with a session over my lap?" Now it's my turn to cock an eyebrow.

Her eyes widen and she shakes her head. "Please," she hisses the word in a long exhale.

Not good enough. She's going to learn. I bring my mouth so close to hers we're breathing the same air. "Please what?"

She flashes me a look that is pure dagger, pure sin as her cheeks glow pink. What a temper she's got. "Please, don't be such an asshole."

"Fuck, Steele," I yell, pushing her back against the wall as we both stare at each other. I'm coming undone like never before. "Tell me and I'll give you what you need."

"Please, fuck me," she whispers softly.

"Good girl," I say, brushing my lips over her mouth as I hook my finger in her panties, and snap.

"Grey… really…again?"

"You'll learn. When you're around me, might be better if you forego the panties." Curling my fingers around my dick, I grip myself hard and find her entrance, hooking her slender thighs and pump my hips, angling her body over mine. My shoulder muscles bunch with each mini thrust of my rod. No way can I slam into her. She's tight. So fucking tight I lean into her, using one of her thighs to leverage her as I pump my cock incrementally into her pussy. Pinpricking sweat erupts across my skin. My blinding hunger to get inside her has me crazed, and if I'm not careful I'll hurt her in my need to seat myself root deep, joining us together.

Over and over I piston my hips, entering her a few centimeters at a time with each rock. "Baby, relax for me."

Her tiny, wet channel slowly stretches around me, pure heaven and I bury my face in her neck, saying words, nonsense, sounds—getting louder with each utterance, more forceful with each thrust. I'm going to come and I'm not even inside her.

"Christian, please," she begs in response and I can't hold back from her plea. Lifting her up, I rapidly bring her down my cock.

"There!" I shout a victory roar. I'm balls deep and begin to thrust in and out of her.

She's fucking with my mind and body and Christ, her pussy feels so goddamn good I can't stop. Forget slowing. I lift her legs, pinning her to the wall in our own intimate rhythm where our bodies fit perfectly joined as we both grunt and moan.

Steele snakes her hand up my neck, raking his fingernails across my scalp, and then yanks my hair. The stinging snap heightens my pleasure of fucking her but still, I can't have her topping me. That won't ever happen.

I bring her hips down my shaft, hard and rough, so forceful she gasps. I do it again and again, showing her who has the control. The sight of her parted lips and closed eyes has me hungry to take her to the bed and power-fuck her until she cries out my name.

Only my name. No other.

"Open your eyes," I command, relishing the rule I have over her when she obeys.

My cock pulsates, jerking as I grind deeper inside her silky softness. Her lashes flutter as I slide out until only my crown is poised against her warm wet velvet.

"You want to come, don't you?" I prod her. I want to hear her come all right, come all the way undone. Fuck. I want to hear her shatter apart. The way I felt last night—out of control—out of my mind, and only now, when I'm inside her do I feel like I'm whole.

"More than anything," she moans low.

God, having her clenched around me is my fix. I need to find out why she's got this power to make me feel…ecstatically alive and at the same time splintering apart as if I've lost my fucking mind. Little-by-little, this girl is becoming part of me and I pummel my cock into her seeking to undo this singular connection I feel to her. Hoisting her body up and then down, as she meets each of my thrusts. I grind my cock into her pussy, boning her with more intensity as if I can screw her out of my system.

"Are you close?" I ask in a hoarse voice that sounds strained to my ears.

She's small, light, and it's not her size or weight that has me struggling. I'm going to climax before her and that fucking isn't acceptable. Reaching down between our bodies, I touch her clit—an engorged gem, wet and quivering against my finger. Yeah she's close. Dammit, why doesn't she answer me?

My heart is hammering and my dick is pulsing, and there's only one way to deal with a hardheaded woman. I plow myself into her. Harder and harder, as her tits bounce and she moans, digging her nails into my shoulders. The pain she imparts spikes my lust. I need a second or I'm going to lose it. Christ, she feels so unbelievable wrapped around me that my cock and balls swell—ache to release. I crane my neck so I can see down into her face.

"Are you ready to come?" I toggle her clit and watch her expression, but it's the clenching of her pussy around my cock that has my utmost attention. I go for broke, circling my thumb around her clit, then stroke my fingertip across the tiny tip, her pearl of nerves, and Christ her arctic eyes glaze over. One more time, I pinch her clit followed by a swipe of my fingers. Flicking her flesh, I maintain a deeper, demanding rhythm as she rides me. "You're holding back from me, baby. Two can play dirty."

She laughs in her husky voice but there's no hiding from me. She's close and I can feel her pussy clenching hungrily around my cock. God, she is so fucking stubborn. I'm ready to explode. I can't—I won't.

I want her as desperate as I am so I walk us to the desk, lower her on top, and prepare to take us over the edge. Slamming into her pussy all the way, I reach down and pin her wrists above her head, power pumping my hips, thrusting hard and deep into her. I grunt, pummeling my cock farther inside her as she tugs with her arms as if I might let her go free. The drowning feeling of driving pleasure spurs me toward the brink as I drive my cock into her, all the way to the hilt, so hard and so fast a blinding flash tears across my vision.

"Yes," Steele mews, a long drawn out whimper as she writhes under me, arching her neck but her eyes are tightly closed.

"Eyes. Open!"

She bows her lush body, her wild crystal eyes flashing open, and she begins to tremble, reaching for me. "Christian. Please more," she sobs.

Her skin is hot and slick, and I feel every centimeter of my cock sliding in and out of her. This isn't just sex, this is fucking with her with my mind, my breath, and my body as she pleads for my dick. The sheer sense of power and my domination of her beneath me is an adrenaline rush, the likes I've never experienced outside last night.

I can't stop, not when she's begging me and not this far past the point of no return. I slam into her with a roar. Her slick pussy squeezes tighter around me. And fuck! I'm there. Releasing her wrists, I yell her name not once but several times in a row as we fuck without stopping. I grip the sides of the desk, banging my hips between her legs without mercy. This type of fucking that I'm doing with Steele crosses the line of cathartic, right into the realm of savage and complete. She bites on my neck, clawing… raking nails down my back as I spear my cock deep inside her, nonstop until she cries out my name. Together we're coming apart and coming together.

"You're mine," I say as I let go, my climax decimating as pleasure rips through me, and I shoot a stream of cum into her. Deep and so fucking hard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~MORE DARK DIRTY TWISTED PASSION TO COME.

Thank you for reading and allowing Senator Grey and Ms. Steele into your head. As you can see they are coming undone and it's only going to get more complicated. I'm on the road but will update soon. xo

Stay well and stay tuned for when Grey turn darker still.


	12. SPLINTERED Partial chapter

**TEASER CHAPTER**

Enjoy AND check back later. For the rest.

I'm posting, when I get home later today from my computer.

**SPLINTERING**

**Ana Steele**

I'M BLOWN away. Mind. Body. Plans.

There is no way _this_ can continue.

I don't even have a name for whatever it is that Christian and I have going on. A mutual-hard-fuck-head-on-collision. I was supposed to get to the hotel, set him straight, and get to work. Well, that plan went straight to hell.

Panting for air, I'm lying beneath him as he reaches down for me, drawing me up and the desk sways in a rickety motion like it's about to give way under us.

"We broke the desk?" I ask in disbelief.

"It's not like the thing cracked. Just a few nuts and bolts came loose," he replies in a stoic tone.

Is this commonplace for him? The whole drive-by-sexing, I mean. With his hands on my hips, I can't brush past him and I'm not sure that I want to, but meeting his mercurial smoky gaze isn't something I relish at this moment when he's just given me another screaming orgasm that blows all sex out of the water.

"What now?"

"Coffee or tea? I already prepped for my morning speeches. Do you eat breakfast? I'm starved." He speaks as though what we engaged in is par for the course. Even though the media doesn't portray him as a man-whoring-politician, this guy most assuredly knows his way around a woman's body. Bonus points that his bedroom history and activity isn't a subject for discussion—but I get that he's popular with women. Very, popular and very private. He can dispute his bedroom mastery all he wants—he's an expert and what he does, he didn't learn from a how-to manual.

"Coffee or tea. It doesn't matter," I reply, meeting his simmering gaze. He's wearing a lopsided grin, staring back at me, and making me forget that us having sex is a mistake. "I don't eat breakfast."

"Sounds like a challenge." He leans forward, ghosting his lips across my shoulder. "I bet I can offer you something to make your mouth water."

"You've got a huge _ego,"_ I reply, brushing away the loose tendrils of my hair that have escaped my braid. Good thing I didn't bother with a chignon or worse, took time and straightened my hair. I should remember that this man ruins hairdos and then I grit my teeth, reminding myself—forget my hair—it's only my reputation and his that require our immediate concern_._

"My ego would like to meet up with your incredible mouth—say tomorrow morning." He tips up my chin, and plants a kiss on my lips. Backing off just a few inches, he asks, "So are you a brunch type or do you just hold out for lunch?"

"_Type_? Come again?" I ask, forcing my face to remain impassive. "Just what types are you accustomed to?"

"I don't kiss and tell, sweetheart." His eyes widen and his lopsided smile deepens. "No insult intended. Just trying to learn a little about you. You don't mind do you?" He runs his smooth jaw along my cheek, dipping down to brush his lips along my collarbone.

"No. But I have questions. And as you said we need to talk. I'm not searching for idle gossip." My whole body tenses as I try and suppress the shiver breaking free. I'm wet and swollen between my legs, and I can't believe I just let this man fuck me against a wall, on a desk, and come inside me. I fully understand, I'd better either do what I came to do, or admit that the idea that I might possibly harness the power of our attraction is ludicrous—an easy to spot disaster.

"Are you really interested in my past lovers?"

"You have a very peculiar skill set. Wouldn't you say Senator Grey?"

"Shit," he hisses. "What exactly do you want to know? The names and addresses of the women I've fucked? What the hell would that get you?" He pulls me back to him, running his jaw along my own.

"You said we needed to talk. And I need answers," I force the words to come out in a steady stream as he kisses my neck. I curl my fingers over his sculpted biceps, and push him until we're safely apart and I meet his heated gaze.

"Anastasia," he murmurs in a gravelly voice. "I like your name."

I gasp. "No one calls me that."

"No one shouts my name when I come inside them either. So maybe, we're even."

Listening to him, my heart beats so hard it feels like my ribs are being battered. "We're so not even, Grey." I suck my lip between my teeth before continuing.

"No? I guess you're right." He stares back at me, his pupils dilated, and he pulls me closer. So close but apart. "What are you doing to me?" he asks.

"Me?" I stare across at him. My body is on fire, and between my legs pulsates, hungry to climb on top of him, ride him all morning long until we're both sated and sweaty. I shake my head, clearing the visual of us in bed. Before I do something incredibly foolish like kiss him, I say, "We need to come to an understanding."


	13. THIS ISN'T A GAME

** CONTENT**

Sorry for the break. A friend read about the unfiltered moonshine line and had a case of white lighting waiting. Over Thanksgiving, we were introduced me to Ole Smokey (128 proof) along with cherries soaked in it. Anyone try apple pie moonshine?

Nothing like being day drunk on based on what comes out of a character's mouth! Thanks Senator Grey!

If you wondered how Ana will respond to Christian's offer...here's her take on Grey's admission.

**THIS ISN'T A GAME**

**Ana Steele**

"YES, WE do," Grey growls, stepping back and pulling up his trousers. "I want you. I'm going to have you."

"That's not an understanding. That's a threat," I counter, curling upward.

He smirks. "It's the truth. Unless you'd like to stop this from ever happening again."

I rise off the desk, dressed in nothing more than heels, a bra, my garter, and another pair of tattered panties, but hell, I stalk toward him. "As a matter of fact, I think that would be best."

"Forget it. You aren't serious. You may think that, but that's not what your body wants!"

"Oh but I am. We can't happen." My voice starts to rise and I'm on the verge of shouting as I continue. "Regardless of what my body wants or not!"

His brows draw together. "You're scared."

"You're full of shit. I'm not...scared. This isn't good for me and if you're not going to come clean, then what's the point?"

"The point is, together when we fuck, it's beyond anything I've ever done. There. Is that good enough? It doesn't matter who either one of us have been with. Only that you agree to submit to me. I promise. Fuck, Ana! I swear, I'll take care of you."

I'm faltering. This is the checkmate point and he has me cornered by what I want. "This isn't just about sex," I whisper. "Us together—how we come together—is epically not good for you. Have you forgotten where you're headed?"

"Uh, let's see. Stuck in a hotel on a campaign trail. No. I'm pretty sure, I've got it!"

"God! Don't play dumb. Not with something this serious!"

"Look, can you just take it out of bitch mode? I'm not an idiot." He levels me with a menacing look yet holds back from grabbing me when I clearly see he wants to lay his hands on me, maybe even lay me over his lap.

"No, generally speaking, you're not. But with your dick making decisions, your campaign is going to self-destruct unless one of us sees the light!"

"Light?" he repeats. "I see the light, baby. You're mine. What we found last night, isn't getting away from us until we've had our mutual fair share."

"Oh so, you're fine with us going public…with what we have between us? I need to know what's your plan, Senator!" I feel the untamed undertow of lust and anger roll off him in waves and it turns me on. This magnetic draw is pure crazy, seventeen shades of fucked up, and is exactly why I can't agree to seeing him half-naked again.

"Don't get cute." Christian clenches his jaw, seeming to take a second to collect his thoughts as his gaze lowers to my bare pussy and his cock gets hard again. The skin over his face darkens and when he meets my gaze, his eyes are ready to shoot plumes of fire. "Let me run this by you. We fuck. It's out of this world. We want to fuck some more. We are going to fuck some more and we're going to do it for hours. Christ, for days. I'm going to show you what it means to be fucked to heaven and back. Every possible way. I'm going to own your mouth, your tits, your pussy, your ass, and everything in between. That sound more like a plan you can live with?"

We're standing so close our chests almost touch but boy what a dichotomy. Mine, half-naked and heaving, and his covered with a tailored shirt and tie, barely moving. "What part of the universe do you live in? Don't you see 'road to ruin' in blinking neon lights where we're concerned?"

"I'm not a complete moron," he replies and backs away, without a glance, and leaves me standing there. Floored.

I watch him walk to the bathroom, enter but he leaves the door open. Well, I'm not going to just remain here and I follow on his heels. I veer around the doorway and halt. He's at the sink, wringing out a wash cloth and I observe him for several beats. As if I'm acting according to plan, he glances over and smiles darkly. "Yes?"

"Fine you might not be a _complete_ moron. But there isn't any possible way you and I can work together without the benefit of plate glass between us. At all times."

He shakes his head, dropping his pants and boxers down to his knees, thereby fully freeing his semi-hard cock. His dick twitches and I gasp, meeting his dark gaze.

"Care to come in and join me?" he asks, wearing his hallmark smirk.

With a roll of my eyes as a reply, I hastily and awkwardly retreat to the other side of the doorway. He's so exasperating but I can't help appreciate the extent of how unguarded he comes across. Pants down around his ankles. Quirked lips. Smart-aleck mouth. A jolt of excitement runs through my body and I swallow, listening to him wash up. I hear the sound of his zipper and his belt buckle jangle, then more water, and finally silence. When I imagine it's safe to chance a look, I peek around the corner, and Christian moves away from the sink where he just wrung out a washcloth.

"Go lay down," he directs me.

"First explain what do you have in mind," I demand, needing some assurances given his propensity to do as he pleases.

"Something that will relax you." He picks up a clean towel, lifting his brow like I'm insane to question his direct order…again.

"Can I do it with my clothes on?"

He stops in front of me, his eyes glinting dangerously. "Don't make the mistake of expecting me to explain my every intention where you're concerned. God help us both, but you'll learn to do as I say, the first time I say it."

Standing there, I'm staring at him. Speechless. "See what I mean? What kind of women are you used to?"

I'm right back to feeling as if I'm ready to spit nails until he follows with, "Fuck, Steele! I'm only going to tidy you up. As much as I enjoy the thought of your pussy filled with my cum, I do realize it might make you uncomfortable to go around in that state. All. Day. Darling."

With the towel thrown over his shoulder, he walks past the doorway, towering over me. I digest his coarse message but there's an endearing quality to his voice…a tone that crawls under my skin. For once, his direction doesn't feel overbearing. He tilts his head to the side and that one action coupled with the unveiled look in his glinting eyes has a twinge flitting inside my chest.

"This isn't the first time you've washed a woman. Is it?" I ask, my own voice straining my vocal cords and coming out as a croak.

"No." A muscle clicks at the corner of his jaw.

One word. And it lands in my chest with a heavy thud. Why should I care if he's washed a million women…but the fluttering in the pit of my stomach says otherwise. "Are you a Dom?"

He looks down at me, the muscle along his jaw twitching faster. "Yes. I am."

I try to keep my eyes focused while all the ideas I constructed this morning come apart—shatter apart. If he's a Dom…he wants me to be… his submissive. "You only want to wash me up?"

"More than that. If you allow me to be _your_ Dom, I'll take care of all your needs. But that means, I own you completely. This isn't a game. You will be mine. My property. I need you and I'm not going to let you get away."

The depth and weight his answer carries has my face heating and my mouth dry. I can feel myself unraveling. Before he understands how much power he wields, I turn on my heel, unwilling to let him see how much his admission affects me or how much I want to accept his offer.

At the foot of the mattress, the nightstand comes into view. His cufflinks sit next to the lamp and I can't escape the confusion that I'm feeling. I slow, staring at the twinkling diamond links and it hits me: fuck, he's so different on so many levels than any of the other guys I've dated. Yeah, none have wanted to own me. Big. Huge. Difference.

And worse, he's the one who has me spinning. "You might be making more of a two-time fuck that's just sex. I mean, how do you know I'm the…" I stop, unable to say the term 'submissive' aloud, "…the one for you?"

"You think what we have is just about sex?"

"Okay, good sex but only S-E-X. Have you ever made a _mistake_?"

He stares at me. Unrelenting but he doesn't do more than stare. "Little girl, this is worlds apart different than just regular_ good sex_. I'm talking about giving yourself to me and letting me show you the extent of what sex can be. Give me complete control over your body and I'll open a door to a realm, I promise will be what you're searching for."

"What you're proposing goes far, far into the realm of a universe I know nothing about other than if it involves you and me—it's risky with a capital 'R.'" Yet conversely, it's that element of danger that's tempting—us in bed is seismic. So far outside the box and has me torn in wanting what has the power to destroy me. Yeah, in short, _us_ in a relationship embodies an adrenaline rush. I've tasted those—none to this extent, and none this unforgettable.

"It's only risky for people who don't plan. Anastasia, I'm not going to spin out of control or allow you to either."

"Just what do you want me to do? With me?"

"Trust me and lie down." He gestures to the bed with the unmade sheets. The twisted covers resemble the disarray much like the one housed inside myself. "You'll feel better if you learn that I'm in charge."

He stops next to me, his warm breath caressing my shoulder. To my amazement, when I gaze up at him, registering the subtle prickling that spreads over my skin, I nod not argue.

"Overbearing much?" I say to him but the words lack an edge.

"I won't lie to you. I am. I'm not one to waste time. I'm willing to train you. If you let me." He presses his fingers to the small of my back, steering me against the side of the bed. Christian frowns, one that surfaces more in the narrowing of his eyes than in the tension of his full sensuous lips.

The spots on my body where he touches me are warm and entrancing. My heart races and the sound of my blood rushes in my ears. A million thoughts skitter through my mind, yet I can't find the words to deny him. No man has ever touched me, seduced me, fucked me, then ordered me to allow him to clean me up.

I imagine if what he says is true, he prefers his lovers to follow his directions meekly, but hell will freeze over before I'll be so compliant. "Real women with brains in their heads don't follow timidly two steps behind. This isn't the year ten."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't I follow behind _you_?"

"You know what I mean." Christ, he has a point but not one I am going to concede anytime soon—not when he wants me to be a docile sub.

"Anastasia, it's time you learned what I'm about and what I can offer you." His fingers move to curl around my hip and he draws me back to him, angling his cheek so that his mouth ghosts my earlobe. "Your pleasure…. is mine. Let me inside you. I'll take care of your every need. Your every desire will be my goal. This isn't a game. There are strict rules and fucking around isn't permitted. I lost my head with you. Twice. It won't happen again."

"So if I don't agree, then this is it?" My heartbeat trips at being up against him, so near the carved contours of his pecs pressing into my shoulders and his woody cologne envelopes me.

"You can walk away. Right now. We both can part. Absolutely. But is that what you want? I felt like shit the moment you walked away from me in that club. You think for a second, after we've fucked each other…that this time will be easier. I promise, if you walk—it'll be for good. There are rules and I've broken enough. For both our sakes, we have to be prepared to commit. A mutual contract."

My head snaps up. "We're going to sign some paper?"

"Yes. I have a contract that sets out what is permitted. It's part of a fail-safe system in place."

"Why does this feel like the beginning in a very elaborate scheme?"

He laughs like my question is farfetched. "Baby, this isn't even the beginning." I go to move but he stops me. "I'm not joking."

There goes his boundless confidence again, and it's no wonder my imagination springs to life. Thoughts flare—more specifically questions about is this why he doesn't get undressed? Then I mind hop to wondering what he looks like naked? What he intends on doing to me if I give him permission? I focus on his sculpted body…I want him naked and in bed. Crap, this isn't what I should be thinking. If someone found out that this is what he's about—we'll make the headlines. We'll be history. Sanity and safety demand we set the limits of our relationship right now. _Stop stalling!_

"I don't think we should fuck each other again. Christian, your future could be compromised…by me."

Without warning he spins me around, tosses the towels to the bed, and lifts my chin until I'm staring up into his face, into his eyes. His pupils dilate and I'm captivated under his stare. Without thinking, my hands fall to his rock hard forearms that hold me by the elbows, a willing prisoner. We're so close and with him controlling my chin, I can't look away. I'm caught in countless ways.

"You realize that's impossible." His steely voice comes out low. Unquestioning.

"You're not good for me. How many times can I say it? I won't ruin my career for sex."

"Do you honestly think I would?"

The idea does seem ludicrous and if possible my face blushes hotter. "No. I don't."

"Give me a chance to explain. Listen to me with an open mind. Christ, can you do that, Steele?"

A voice inside me whispers this isn't the way out of crazytown. He's a man who gets what he wants and I'm giving him the means.

"That's rich. Are you saying I'm going to 'not' listen with an open mind if you didn't ask?" I roll my eyes, fully aware, of all the avenues, me allowing him the opportunity to sway me is pure madness. Effectively I just stacked the deck in his favor. _Good going, Ana._

He leans closer, his mouth taking possession of mine. He uses his tongue to separate my lips and then he thrusts fully into my mouth, our tongues sliding against each other. He kisses me, stealing all my thoughts. He masterfully sucks my bottom lip between his teeth, biting down with a nip, but before I can cry out in pain, he tangles his tongue with mine, encircling my waist with his arms as he reaches down and cups my ass cheeks. The slight sting from my recent paddling amplifies the sensation of pure pleasure rippling through my body, diving into the coiling pleasure housed in my belly that aches to be set free.

Our eyes meet and I can see a scorching rawness in his gaze, unrelenting and one he doesn't try to hide. He wants everything I have. "You'll use me up," I whisper, afraid for the first time.

"Never," he says, his voice harsh and sure. "Trust me."

He retakes my mouth. His lips are as skilled as they are incredible, full and firm and without parallel. He's a man who uses his body and mine in licentious ways that unbalance my reason. Clearly that's what this is about. Knowledge isn't power and I can't protect myself. I was wrong to think otherwise.

I'm vulnerable to the angle of his oral assault. Each thrust of his tongue leaves me feeling as though he's fucking me all over, and I cling to him, opening my mouth, and letting him inside. The man is a master whether it's using his dick or his tongue. This is open warfare and he employs the means to make me lose my mind.

I have to even the score and wind my arms up to his broad shoulders, higher until my fingers twist in his hair and I tug. "You're not listening!"

"Steele!" My name comes out a warning rasp accompanied by growl deep in his throat. "I am. I listen to every snappy syllable that exits your incredible mouth. Baby, give me a chance."

His voice rises and he smiles—cocky as ever—and I can't help but meet his grin with a smile of my own. I yank fistfuls of his hair, refusing to let him think I'm a total pushover. "I think I have. Twice."

"Agree to something longer than one night." Not to be outdone, the good senator smacks my ass, not once but several times until I let go of his hair and moan into his mouth. Without breaking contact with my lips, he resumes cupping my ass, grinding his erect cock into me. He kisses me harder, rougher demonstrating he's got the power as he possesses me from the outside in.

What he's doing should incense me, but it doesn't. I'm melting, near to exploding. "Please," I plead without shame.

"I should fuck you like you deserve. Really show you what I'm talking about. Will you let me—give me total authority over you?" He grabs my face and our gazes lock. I can't resist and I weakly nod my agreement.

Christian resumes kissing me, asserting his ownership over my mouth and I open to him, letting him suck and bite my lips, going farther than kissing. He's devouring me bite by bite.

When he stops his commando kissing, I'm out of breath and the space between my legs is even wetter as my sex clenches. This man has me skating a tortuously thin line, hovering at the brink of what I fear is out and out disaster.

"Stop thinking so hard! Just do what you feel."

"I can't."

"You can. With me." His hips pump against mine and there's no more thinking—only raw lust.

One more grind, one more hair yank, and I'll leap over the edge. I'm looking for a life line—I'm looking for his dick. I'm real with him and that scares the shit out of me. He bends forward, recapturing my mouth, and muffling my reply, snaking his tongue until I'm moaning not a rebuttal, but his name.

He guides me onto the bed and I lower onto the cool sheets, overwrought by throbbing pleasure that washes over my body. He's made me come again and just by kissing—commandeering my mouth.

"You like that. Don't lie to me." He rubs his hand down my waist and without stopping until his hand rests between my legs, his breath caressing my neck, and the heavy ache inside me begs to be freed. Feather soft, he skims his fingertips across my pussy, moving his mouth to my ear. He whispers, "I've taken the necessary steps so that you'll become my submissive. The ceremony will take place this Saturday."

I go to lift up, my stomach muscles quivering. "Don't I have a say?"

"Little sub, your pussy says, 'yes'." He presses his fingers against my shoulder, stopping me.

"Wait, circle back. Did you just say 'ceremony' and 'submissive' in the same sentence?" Holy hell—what does he think I am? I envision a woman bowing and scraping and being bound.

"Yes," he strings out the word, watching me intently.

Then silence, no explaining and without breaching my folds, he continues his measured caressing. He's teasing me and I'm incapacitated. "Open your legs and stop fighting me." He gives me a smile like I'm trying his patience, but not the kind of look like he's at the end of his rope—more like he's got my number and he'll win.

A newly minted, "Fuck you!" flies out of my mouth.

His hoarse grunt is my only clue before he rolls me to my side and smacks my ass in rapid succession. "That's not ladylike," he snarls and smacks my ass again.

The stinging stripes from last night ignite, stinging hotter with his blistering palm print branding my ass.

I'm grabbing his hand—or trying to—when he flips me onto my stomach, pinning me underneath him, and wrenches open my legs. "Do you want me to show you how I'll happily take you, to get you on track? Right now, Anastasia. Say 'yes' and I'll show you who's top."

_Would he actually do something like fuck me…from behind… and then be on his merry way to his first appointment?_ "Are you talking about…I've never done that. No! We've got a meeting."

"Not once?" His ragged breath rushes over my face. Without waiting for my reply, he yanks my hips up and against him. His cock is a rigid bar, imprinting my skin with tactile proof that yep, he's not joking. No question—he would. Problem: I…want…him…to!

"What? Are you threatening me with anal? Christ, no. I'm not making that up."

He rubs his cock against me, cupping my ass checks and separating them. Cliché or not, time in my world stops. I feel his hunger and my body clenches. I want him. He swipes his crown over the seam of my ass and stops at my opening. He's wet, dripping, and the pressure of him pushing against me makes me gasp. A shiver passes through me, making my nipples tighten as goose bumps cover my skin.

"Relax for me, baby," he says slowly, pushing the head of his dick inside me. "Beautiful, I want you to open up to me on all levels."

"Please," I whimper as he pumps his crown inside me. I'm falling. Falling. Falling.

"You are ideal. Can't you see that we're perfectly matched? What is it that you want? Without fail, I'll give it to you."

I gulp, staring at the headboard—diamond-shaped padded leather and honestly, there's nothing I want from him aside from more sex. The perfect conundrum. He's proposing exactly what I desire and all I have to do is summon an ocean of courage and agree. There's only one thing I need.

"Secrecy," I whisper.

I expect him to scramble, think about a response but he doesn't. "Absolutely. You'll have it and I'll put it in writing."

"In writing. That contract you spoke of?"

He withdraws his cock, leans over until his body blankets mine. "We both require confidentiality. So yes."

So simple to take him up on his lascivious and now secretive offer. Who would know? Clearly, he's thought this out to have a written agreement. "You're sure no one would find out… us?"

His fingers grip my hips, harder for a beat, then tenderly trace along my waist. With a sigh, he rolls off me, and lifts me so that we're looking at each other. I lick my lips, my heart booming in my ears, and he gazes at me, combing his fingers through his hair. "This isn't the type of offer I make to just anyone. I belong to a very exclusive club."

The weight of what he just admitted crashes down. This is more than a discussion of his 'other lovers.' I gaze into his slate-colored eyes not understanding. "You've hooked me. Please explain the rest of that _iceberg_."

"It's where we'd go. No fucking around outside. Ever. Except, I broke that rule…with you. But after Boston, we'd have to agree to contain ourselves."

"And how is that supposed to work?"

"Let me repeat and reiterate. We don't fuck around outside the club in D.C. That eliminates the risk of being found out. I'm not coming out of your apartment. You're not coming out of mine. No fear of the press."

I falter, conceptualizing what he's driving at and then it hits home. "Are you referring to… You can't mean…" So this is where he's acquired his ability to fuck like a savage…except he's a United States Senator. There's a disconnect. He can't be serious!

"What do you want to know?" Prompting me, I see he's gone totally serious. His eyes are back to glass. Green, hard glass.

_Just say it._ "Are you talking about a sex club?" That phrase zero times has rolled off my tongue in relation to myself before, but this parallel is lower than zero. So new is the idea—the mere idea of an idea about sex clubs that include me and him doesn't even exist within the confines of my brain. I'm stunned. I'm troubled.

His arrogant—bordering on wolfish—grin returns, widens, but his eyes remain focused on me. "This isn't just any sex club. As I said, it's _exclusive_."

I stiffen, flabbergasted and blurt out, "Just you and me? That's exclusive."

He quirks his brow and shakes his head. "There are other definitions of exclusive. The House has an elite patronage."

"It doesn't sound exclusive. It sounds like a contained playground for rich men, Christian."

"You're so black and white and to dispute your statement, there are plenty of women members." He dips his head, lowering to a few inches away from my eyes, and his stare is unwavering.

"Oh really. Better than being obtuse. I lay down a card and then you lay one down, but only based on what I say or ask." We gaze at one another, and the sensation is potent. Inescapable. It's like he sees into my eyes and right into my soul. "Either there's a crowd or not. Don't get off topic by drawing a line to me, defining the provisions of what _you_ brought up." I inhale, dropping my gaze. We've veered past the edge, and are careening all the way to crazy town!

"Okay. Fine. There are patrons." He answers but doesn't elaborate.

Patrons? Elite? Is this some game he's playing? I look up and meet his eyes. "How many people—_patrons_? And who are they?"

"Last count. Two hundred and ten members. But no names. I can't divulge anyone's identify."

I cover my mouth with my palm and I'm ready to roll my eyes but I don't. Not yet. "And why is that?"

"If you're asking will your identity be kept safe, then yes. Fact: people are present but no one talks. It's barred. Trust me, there are people there with lots on the line. We cater to high-end clientele. No one will gamble on the confidentiality agreement my partners and I have in place. We've got the goods on everyone who comes to play. When you get a feel for the atmosphere, you'll understand. Immediately."

"And will he have the 'goods' on me?" Christ, if his partners did that, he'd know about why and on what grounds I'd pursued being an intern.

"In a manner of speaking. Yes. But you're off limits … except to me of course."

"Oh but of course. Your possessive nature isn't exactly hard to miss."

He leans over and kisses me sweetly on my lips. "So are you in or are you out?"

"Is there a third option?" I stammer, refusing to leap. "'Cause, I might need a shove."

"It doesn't work that way. On the outside, you decide whether to cross the threshold. Jump one way or the other. No middle of the line."

"I'm nervous. When do I have to decide?"

"Right. Now."

So much and so soon, but with him I was quickly gathering that's how each moment in his life ran. Razor sharp—or at least that's how it feels to me—and without over-analyzing my options, I nod. "In. I'm in."

"Good choice. I'm very pleased. Now, lie down." He presses me backward. "When you submit yourself to me, this give-n-take will unfold much differently."

He places a towel under me, rolling my hips down to the mattress, parts my legs, and then touches the wet washcloth to my folds, wiping me and adjusting my legs to give him better access.

The cloth is wetter than I'd imagined and although he's not trying to be erotic, I'm clenching at the jolts of pleasure his touch imparts. I clutch the sheets in my hands, my thigh muscles tightening, and I'm so close to begging him to do me.

"We'll meet at the House. It's a highly guarded club. Both with the outer trappings of security features but more so as members guard their privacy. The House isn't advertised or discussed; it's secretive and private and it offers us a place to explore our options. Without restriction. It's safe. Probably unlike any place you've visited. You can't talk about it. Can't tell your friends. A driver will pick you up, blind fold you, and bring you to me."

"And I just go with the flow?"

"Do you trust me?"

"I don't know you…" But even just meeting him, I won't deny there's something about him that reaches inside me. There's something about him that inspires trust. Not just to me, but countless people and it wasn't some PR campaign. "As crazy as it sounds. I guess, I do trust you."

"Come Saturday night, you'll be mine." He pats me dry, lowering his mouth to my mound and nuzzles me, dragging his tongue across my folds as I sway under his attention.

"Please," I whisper as he latches onto my clit, and sucks me hard. Sucks me until I see stars burst apart. I come for him, threading my fingers into his hair as he holds open my pussy. I clench and quiver as he thrusts his tongue into my entrance, licking my release. "Christian. God…you make me feel so amazing."

Raising his head, our gazes fuse. "You won't regret giving yourself to me."

MORE TO COME

Thank you for writing. I'm going through and if you asked a question, I'll answer them beginning tonight for those still needing a response. A big concern is how will this end.

** T**

Okay. We're only a couple of chapter until the end of the first installment (book).

I want to warn readers. This isn't an HEA...it's a Happy for Now.

Several of you have written and I want to assure you, this isn't the end of Ana and Christian's story.

We're going **three more installments** into their world.

The next one takes place in D.C.

Don't loose faith in Christian. He's dark, but Ana is H I S.

And what's his, he protects without question. FULL THROTTLE

Yes. They go to the House.

Yes. He claims her.

Yes. He won't let her walk way. Ever.

WILL HE MAKE MISTAKES? God, yes.

Ana is a contradiction. That is her theme within her personality. But she's loyal, passionate, and moody.

We'll talk more about her and Christian's character at the end.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING

AND GIVING THIS VERSION OF ANA AND CHRISTIAN A CHANCE.

...we're heading into the final ACT, yet we're laying down the foundation for the next installment. THREE MORE CHAPTERS.

Senator #2 is coming up in December, and if you're interested in reading, I'll get it up ASAP.


	14. RACING for the EDGE

**RACING FOR THE EDGE**

**Christian Grey**

PRESS THE BUTTON for autopilot. José picks us up and behind my aviators, I watch how he and Steele interact. I'm holding a copy of a speech, yet it's them I focus on. He nods and greets me, and then her. They're friends but they don't do more than say a clipped 'hello.' Earlier, I texted Nora about the driver and exactly 'who' he is. She bounced the connection back to Steele—as her contact.

"I've got the door," I say to José, curtailing him from getting close to Anastasia.

Steele quirks her brow but says nothing as I take her elbow and help her into the backseat. Fuck, if this were a limo, I'd have her under me in the next six seconds. No question.

Once inside, Steele hands José our schedule and the list of addresses. Pulling away from the curb, we enter the morning grind. Near the harbor, we speed along and only hit a traffic jam on the other side of the tunnel.

José doesn't glance in the rear view mirror, he drives without commentary, and after minutes of glaring, I stop. What the fuck am I doing?

I refocus on the girl sitting next to me. "Any questions?" I ask, splaying open my legs wider, touching my knee to hers.

"I'm good. Studied my info packet. Any special requests on where I should position myself?"

Christ, I clench my jaw. I have a few ideas. Looking over the rim of my sunglasses, I say, "What you did last night was perfect."

"Okay," she replies with a quick smile. Nothing more to add, she blushes and looks away.

At the first stop, we're robotic. Distanced. Held in check.

I'm fully aware of her. Want her. Starving for her, I look away realizing the more I hold myself back, the stronger my fixation gets.

At our first stop, I repeat the words from the speech written, and begin to kibitz with the audience composed of unionized teachers and school staff without a staffer to field questions. This group is politically savvy, and I hunker down for what I expect will be a down and dirty meet-n-greet… until Steele abruptly steps in and begins to direct those present so I can address each speaker. I listen to the man in front of me, relaxing into my established routine of audience interjection. More directed than last night, in line with how I operate on a campaign trail thanks to executive coaching, yet anyone with working eyes can discern Steele's an asset. She's a natural at corralling those waiting, and better afterward during the "handshake"—a little bit of face time that I spend within the crowd.

I half watch as she picks up a baby, and then comes over to me. "Senator. Let me get a photograph." I shake my head, smiling, and take hold of a cute kid as the baby's father claps me on the back.

With her phone she snaps a few pictures, then she's back to working the crowd. She converses, laughing, and smiling.

We're ready to roll to the next event. José pulls up and we pile inside, discussing what just happened. I find myself laughing again as we recall some of the things asked and when we pull up to the next stop, I can't recall the drive. Only the girl. Ana. Her name is on the tip of my tongue.

Exiting the Bronco, we enter a factory, a harder sell with people who've been hit by the economy, but fuck if it isn't a grand slam repeat performance. Mentally, I click off the items on my schedule as we go from point to point all over Boston. Never have I felt this at ease while being so fired up…I want to take a break and talk to Ana. Tell her things.

Each event completed is one-step closer to claiming this girl next to me. Ana S. Steele. Christ. Gracious, spontaneous, whip smart…all are an understatement to describe her talents. She was born for this job—and for what I desire from her when it's just she and me.

I give Nora the go-ahead to forward calls to Steele's phone—the one she's intelligently purchased for her intern work—and our eyes seek each other out more and more. Her sparkling gaze is what I crave as a substitute for her warm, seductive touch. A thousand times, I've revisited fantasyland, where she's under me, moaning or screaming my name.

Exiting the car, I glance over to José. "We'll be out in an hour. Be ready."

"Roger that," he replies and dips his head, glancing around. "I'll park nearby."

"Last stop," Steele says to me and shifts her eyes to her friend. "Thanks."

He smiles and winks. Nothing more. "You're friends?" I venture when we're out on the sidewalk, testing to see what she'll say.

"We are. I've known him a long time."

"Just friends?"

"Strange you should ask. Isn't the going rule, we don't kiss and tell? I do recall hearing that spill from your lips…just yesterday."

I peer over my sunglasses. "Ask me a question about anyone you see and I'll answer you truthfully. But I can't divulge confidences. I won't do that to you."

She considers my answer—I believe—and then shakes her head, and quirks her brow. "When you decide to share your past. So will I."

I lift my glasses. What the fuck is she holding back? That her ex-lover has been hauling my ass around Boston? "That's not an answer."

"But it's the only one you're going to get," she replies. "Unless you're will to share your history."

"Fine. Be abstruse," I snort. "Consider yourself in trouble."

She laughs in my face, and I have to hold back a grin at how she's able to play me. God, I'm keyed up. By the time we walk onto the grounds of Harvard, there's a sense of accomplishment and excitement in me that has one focal point—my hardcore hunger. I need to fuck Anastasia again. An hour and we'll be back at the hotel. Shit, I can hold out that long…can't I?

"Ready?" she asks as we near the auditorium.

"I need you. Now," I whisper into her ear as I pretend to be showing her something on my computer tablet.

"You're joking," she replies, tilting her head and her soft hair caresses my cheek.

I swallow—the muscles all over my body wrap tightly to my bones. "I'd do you in a broom closet…if you'd agree."

"Not gonna happen, Senator Grey. Your rules. Not mine."

"You little minx," I snarl between gritted teeth as my gaze traces her fuckable lips. "I'm serious."

"Thank you. Twice." She smiles, laughing softly, and I'm stunned at how much she's got me dangling by a thin thread.

A slice of sunlight strikes her mouth at just the right angle and the tiny ball in her tongue sparkles. "Is your tongue pierced?" I ask, mesmerized by her piercing and understanding why she over compensates when enunciating certain sounds.

"It is. I removed my piercing when we checked into the hotel last night. It's back." She seductively runs the ball across the bottom of her teeth and my dick reacts as if she's licked my crown. I imagine her mouth on my hard-on, taking all of me as she kneels submissively. Her arms tied behind her back or cuffed, and I'm controlling her every move.

My cock all but stands up and salutes. Her ability to commandeer my arousal response is impossible to put aside. For an indoctrinated Dom, this level of unadulterated lust running rampant in my veins is novel and unsettling as hell. I want her with a profound ache, getting heavy and harder to ignore. My pulse pounds in my temples. A ceaseless sense of turmoil churns in my blood, my bones, my brain. I don't consider how to cure myself from craving her. Categorically, there's only one remedy. The solution is sex.

I slant over and snarl, "Fuck the rules."

"Or make them up as we go," she replies. "You can't have it both ways."

"Yes. We can. Until Saturday, we haven't signed jackshit." I've got to have her—I don't care about anything except satisfying this carnal urge. No distance is too far nor is any threat of jeopardy too great.

"_How far over the line?"_ The echoing of Jax's measured question fills my mind. I wonder too…at what point will I cross the line with this girl until it's too far to retreat back into safe secrecy? The question should blossom like a drop of blood on a white cloth, until it is only the stain I see, not the material circumstances. But I don't. I only see Ana. I only want her.

With certainty, I silently say, "All the way."

"Senator Grey." A voice booms behind me.

I turn and face Dean Nolan, hurrying down the walkway; his cheeks are ruddy, belying his Irish ancestry and his love to drink—more like tie one on. "Long time, Dean. Great to see you again."

"Likewise, Senator Grey." He holds out his hand and we shake.

"Ms. Steele, my intern," I say, introducing her to the Nolan.

"Ah, Ms. Steele, hello. Wonderful to meet you." Nolan smiles recklessly, pumping her hand. "Give your grandparents my regards."

"Good afternoon, Dean." Steele nods, but says nothing about her grandparents. Instead she looks to me. "Senator, shall we?"

The dean's face gets a shade redder at the snub and it's so out of character compared with her whole demeanor—what she's shown me so far. A huge question—one I stow. More work for Archer.

Dean points toward the waiting crowd. "Senator, we've eagerly been awaiting this talk. Right this way." He sounds jovial, engaging, but I know otherwise.

"Always a pleasure being back. What an opportunity?" Rhetorical—absolutely.

"Ah, yes. Well, the auditorium is packed. Standing room only. Even though it's the summer, many students came back to campus." The dean nods, side-glances Ms. Steele, who's busy talking on her phone, going over some last minute detail about tonight with Nora.

I flash a glance over to her, not expecting her to catch me gawking, but she does and for the briefest second, she halts whatever she's saying. The slightest pink tinges her cheeks and her translucent blue eyes shimmer hypnotically, holding me transfixed.

Stunning comes to mind as I stare back, fascinated by her. I smile then wink, feeling no shame at having been singularly seduced by her one more time.

Nolan is up ahead, a few steps away by this time, and I take her by the elbow, quirking my brow at the tiny gasp escaping her lips. "Come with me." A double-entendre that we both understand.

"Don't I always," she whispers.

"Baby, don't tempt me."

"We'd better get moving." She cocks her head toward the dean.

I blink, holding back from the urge to kiss her in public. "Right," I respond, pressing my fingers to the small of her back, leaning close enough to inhale her perfume.

"Christian," she groans so soft that I wonder if it's my imagination as we begin walking forward.

We catch up to Nolan. He's unaware that we aren't hanging on his every word as he relays streams of sound bites about the recent campus renovations, _thanks to Citibank_. His spin doctor tone is reserved and what he recites is propaganda bullshit that I'm betting he's crafted all for Steele's grandparents. The Stillmans—thanks to Archer I'm very acquainted with who they support, or rather, who they control with their old money. Just not the familial relationship between them and Ana.

Those types, I steer clear of if I can. Otherwise, I'd be no better than Nolan. A slew like him and a good possibility why the Veep is hot on my trail to be her running mate. To the vice president, I'm a blank political slate that can be used for her ulterior political motives—all of which hold no interest for me. But with the POTUS out of the picture in a year, I owe the Veep an answer, which is becoming much more complicated as I stand next to Ana.

At the entrance of the auditorium, I take hold of the door handle and stand back, allowing Steele to enter before me, and once again, inhale her familiar fragrance. Epinephrine to my senses and for one blasted second, lucidity prevails. It might not be roadblocks like Nolan who are my biggest problem. What if it's from her that I suffer a collapsing spiral? Her words ring clearly in my mind_. Don't you see 'road to ruin' in blinking neon lights where we're concerned?_

There's a quality about her in which I feel when we're together, I can be saved or recreated. And it's that doorway where I get, she's a risk. A danger. A chance that I'll never be free from waiting for my next Ana hit. Today, I'm a façade, concerned about feeding my ever widening hunger. I'm cool on the outside, but burning on the inside.

We enter the auditorium and rippling handclapping begins. A few more sets of hands join in, and then more and more until the echoing applause is near to deafening.

"Go get 'em," Steele says softly, yet strangely in the thunderous chaos, it's only her voice that I hear.

"Thanks," I reply, meeting her crystal blue gaze, and then I take to the stage, pushing aside any doubts when she smiles and flashes me a peace sign. She's the reason I'm on _this_ stage, and I tell my idiot imagination to, "Shut the fuck up!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ MORE TO COME!

**How far will Christian come undone**? Stay tuned.

To clarify…we're not at the end of this installment.

I promise, Ana and Christian are going to crazy town before they leave Boston. You know ya want to see them unravel, get insane, and faceoff!

Say it with me, **"HELL YEAH!"**


	15. SNAP-CRACKLE-POP!

SNAP-CRACKLE-FUCKING POP!

Christian Grey

THIRTY MINUTES into the talk, I'm taking a sip of water on stage in between answering questions. I establish a rhythm; things are going great. Ana helps by directing from the audience, moving up and down the aisles as she's done all day, and then I notice _him_. A tall guy, unlike the other people who stand by Ana, waits for a turn at the mic.

He doesn't move, doesn't attend to anything much except staring at her—he lets people cut ahead of him and then it hits me. He isn't in line. She laughs at something he says, and that's when I start to focus more on them, then the next question. With tattooed arms, he reminds me of José, and there's a similarity in him—beyond the inked appendages—and my spine stiffens with a resounding

_SNAP._

I get further into my speech—all memorized bullshit at this point. I stop and accept more questions from the audience. But this time, I'm doing the fielding of queries as Steele moves farther down the aisle. Another person steps up to the mic, prefaces a question, and we talk, the cameramen get a close-up going on the monitors. There's a little tension, but I'm on my game with the question posed.

Next person steps up to talk. No problem, but now the dude in the aisle and Ana are more cohesive as a unit, installed in the background, and she's less than an actual force in managing the crowd in line. When she hands the microphone to a woman who taps her shoulder, I torque my chin and there goes a distinct…

_CRACKLE_

…in the cording tendons along my neck. I grind my molars, watching her and the guy lean closer together. I think of the derivations of position. Vectors in physics and like a shoe that waits to fall, tension tears a circuit through my body like a zap of white-lightening, shredding my concentration.

I lose my train of thought not once but several times during this part of the Q & A. Luckily, I cover my own goddamn ass since Steele is too busy socializing in the aisle.

Next question, and I notice she's gone.

_POP!_

The s-o-u-n-d reverberates in my head.

My body fills with tension, unending, and disemboweling to my focus. The minutes drag on and she doesn't reappear. One of the cameramen gives me the signal to wrap things up. Last comment then I wave at the audience, and thank Dean Nolan who stands off in the wings. Nolan waits to come back on stage, and when I flash him the signal, he bolts forward with his prepared closing remarks on an index card that he hides in his palm. I peruse the audience for Ana, scanning a rapid grid but come up empty.

When the video crew calls out, "Cut," I'm out of there on the warbling chorus of my campaign theme song. And she's nowhere. Not behind the curtains. Not out in the audience. She fails to return. I walk to the back of the stage, acutely aware of the white noise of voices, the thudding of feet moving, equipment being dragged across the stage. In the midst of all the commotion, I scout the area looking for a girl wearing a light grey suit with glasses and dark silky hair. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I glance around the place, still on the lookout for her.

A small wave of relief floods my body as I glance at my cell screen, seeing Ana's number displayed; but the relief is short-lived as I read her message.** "Had a mini-emergency. Meet you back at the hotel. So sorry!"**

I read and reread her message and don't know what to make of it except I'm ready to punch a fucking wall.

INSIDE MY hotel bedroom, I'm suited up, wondering how on this side of hell I can make it through dinner and a cocktail party without exploding. _Where in holy fucking hell is Ana?_ I jerked off in the shower, unable to escape the thought of owning her body, imagining, I'm making her pay for running out with a round of hair fisting, fast, savage sex. Her down on her knees, bent over, arms tied and me fucking her from behind. Stroke after stroke, it's my name on her lips.

I've got to stop thinking about owning her, but here I sit, my dick hard enough to pound nails, and chaos running through my brain. I could jerk off again, but that's not what I need. I need her under me. Moaning for me to make it good for her.

Only one thought knifes me: Where in the fuck is she? Yet, our need for secrecy—or really, my pride—prevents me from texting her. I refuse to open that door. Nothing I can do can suggest impropriety. Our messages are open to scrutiny.

Closing my eyes, I focus on my breath in vain, hoping the feeling of drowning will retreat. I had a plan. I know—another so-called brilliant one. Second time in less than twenty-four hours with this chick. Campus talk followed by a session of uninterrupted sex with her. Her being my personal drug.

My heaven.

My hell.

Aka my MIA intern.

Anastasia Steele.

Now, it's fifteen minutes until I have to go down and make nice at a cocktail party I want to blow off. I'm so pissed I can't see straight, forget thinking sanely. My phone rings. "What?" I bark.

"Calm the hell down," Nora laughs. "You should be smiling. Tomorrow you're on your way back. Just checking in and making sure you're ready to rock tonight."

I'm not smiling—far from it. I'm teetering at the edge and if I spew molten lava all over the carpet, I wouldn't be surprised. Not one bit.

"Do you have some indication as to why the fuck I wouldn't be capable of rocking this thing?" I close my eyes, and swallow. This isn't the first time that Nora has seen me fried to a crisp, but she's never been on the receiving end. "I'm sorry," I say and clench my jaw.

"Christian, what happened?"

"Nothing. I'm just strung out."

"Look, I just got confirmation that the seat to your right is freed. Henry Jarvis phoned me back and confirmed his wife won't be coming. He'll be in D.C. next week. Wants to meet. I gave him a ten minute spot on Wednesday."

Great. Another favor I now owe. In twenty-four hours I've pulled in two because of Ana. I silently curse myself for getting involved with her. Jax warned me against losing my head. Impressively on point, and there's no one to blame but myself. The second I stared at her dancing in New York, I knew Ana was trouble.

But no. I had to go and fuck her.

Twice.

Why couldn't I have just kept my dick in my pants and waited until I got back and hooked up with a real pro? A sub who knew the score—knew how to get me off and back on track. But even agreeing to how fucked up this is…my palms itch to bend and bind Steele over a bench and take my sweet time with her. Make her as crazy out-of-her skull as I feel at this moment.

"Thanks," I say.

"You're almost done. By tomorrow you'll be back in D.C.," Nora reiterates a point that now only makes the tension hike up inside me.

"That's what I hear."

"Anything I can do?"

Without a lucid reply, I stare out the window at the dark evening skies and envision the future and see the impossibility of the mess I'm entrenched within. Question answered. I'm at the brink and for my self-preservation there's only one plausible solution. When I see Steele, I'll tell her… forget it.

Finally, I say, "Nope. You've done wonderful work as usual. Everything went smooth as silk." Christ, I envision dark strands of pure silk, and exhale sharply.

"Miss Steele called and sent me some photos to post on FB. Things went well…yeah?" Nora sounds…oddly reticent.

"Fine, but I don't think I'm going to be bringing her back with me."

"What?" my assistant semi-shouts, then she falls silent for a few beats. "Wait, did something happen that you're not saying?"

"No. Look I've got to run. Still prepping for the speech tonight and it's been a long day. I'll see you in the office. And thanks."

"Okay, but Christian…if you need to talk, call me."

"Will do."

Hanging up, I get that I'm spiraling. The sound of the air conditioner is masked by each of my heartbeats that crash in hammering waves within my ears. I should begin the cocktail hour up here but the thought of drinking Scotch just doesn't do it for me.

Downstairs, I exit the elevator and take a right into the corridor, and straight into the cocktail fundraiser. It's jam-packed but it's also just as Nora said, no biggie, and I could do this in my sleep. But each person I meet and speak with, I'm all too keenly aware that Steele is nowhere in sight, and this is turning into a nightmare. I pull at my collar, grinding my teeth, a drink in hand but I don't sip it. If I start, I might not stop, and that would be a mistake too many politicians have made. Not me.

I inhale a lungful of air to suppress a yawn coming on and I stop, the muscles all over my body go rigid and my dick follows suit. I inhale again, confirming that the fragrance teasing my senses is… and then my anger rockets through me. _For both our sakes_, it_ better not be her_.

~~~~~~~~~more to come!

As you can see we're not going to end this nicely…it's gonna take some work and CG is about to looooooose it. BIG TIME!

Do remember, this lays the foundation for our next installment (BOOK 2).

How far can we take them? …this isn't even the tip of the iceberg for where these two will end up—I PLAN ON WRITING FOUR BOOKs of chaos to include a murder, a marriage, and babies.

In this series, this CG won't stop fighting. Ever.

He's finding out how much he wants if not needs Ana, and that's a risk for someone who hasn't trusted anyone in a hell of long time to feel and admit.

Ana's up next.

Thanks for writing and reviewing and spurring this story forward. I'm halfway done with the next installment.

All aboard!


	16. DON'T WALK AWAY MAD just goooo

DON'T WALK AWAY MAD...

Anastasia Steele

I'M WORKING the aisle and Christian is totally owning the room. He's owning me if I'm willing to be honest. The smile splitting my face is mostly from him, but it's also from the people around us. The throng imparts a contact high, and I'm surfing within a sea of endorphins. Each time my gaze connects with Christian's, it's a livewire jolt to my nerve endings.

Yet I'm captivated by the crowds. Talking with them. Answering questions. I turn, holding the mic for a man with a piece of paper. His hands tremble as he reads his note while asking his question about tax reform.

Christian is cool. He gives this guy his attention, and a serious answer about the economy yet he also interjects a joke and has the guy and the audience laughing. Over and over, I've witnessed this type of interaction and it's blowing my mind how Christian is so out and out captivating.

Another man steps up to the mic. No paper, no nervousness, if anything he looks pissed. This time the question goes to foreign policy. Christian nods, acknowledging the speaker by repeating the man's question, directing the cameras to spotlight the guy. Again, my awe inspiring senator keys in and raises a point, answers the question—hell he goes well beyond an answer. The man at the mic thanks him—thanks me.

I'm surprised by this kooky business of meeting people, listening to them, and addressing their concerns—in essence, giving them a voice and it's unbelievably potent even if I'm only an intern. So entrancing, and I'm psyched. Energized.

"Whoa. Look at you," a familiar voice whispers behind my head. I swing around and meet a pair of murky menacing eyes.

"Colin, what are you doing here?" I ask and grimace, seeing my cousin in the aisle and potentially blowing my stack as I consider him.

"Isn't that what families do? Stick together?"

"Not our family," I sneer.

If anyone would take pleasure in reporting to my grandparents what I'm doing and where I'm doing it, it's him. I want to hurl and laugh and scream. Colin looks at me and smirks. His eyes glint as if I'd done something incredible that he can use to ingratiate himself to Gran aka get a financial handout. Instinctively, I adjust my scarf, afraid he'll see the bite marks and hickeys adorning my neck.

He shrugs. "Since when did you get into politics? And with a republican. Pity. Does Gran know that you're hanging out here…with Senator _Rolling_ _Stone_? How _committed_ are you?"

Anger rockets through me and I flash a glance at him in disbelief. "If you want to ask a question, the line starts over there."

He juts his chin toward the stage. "You're not serious. Is this some type of rebellion? Gran and Pop will blow a fuse. Better tell the politician, '_adios_.'"

"What I do, is none of your business." Fuck, my viper of a cousin will use this and I can't let him. I won't! His words hit me in the pit of my stomach and my pulse spikes. Tilting my head away from the mic, I'm about to splinter. "Seriously, what do you want and why are you here?"

"Get real," he replies. "Nolan invited me."

Several people snap photographs around us. I shield my eyes, vainly trying to think. I was afraid Dean Nolan would mention seeing me to my family, and that's why I downplayed the introduction. Right now, I need to ice my cousin—if that's possible. Ignoring Colin, I focus on the man at the mic.

"Here's a bumper sticker." I smile at the guy in line, and turn to another person waiting to ask Christian a question. Nodding, I point to a young lady who beams, wearing several 'Elect Senator Grey' buttons, and I hold out the mic.

Colin steps away and I think, good he's leaving but he doesn't. He recedes behind me and whispers loud enough to hear, "You haven't even heard me out and you know, I've got to say my piece. What you're doing here isn't groundbreaking. Go tag on to another campaign trail if you're serious about senators. Gran supports several."

If only it were as simple as smacking my stupid cousin in the face. I can't let him get an inch closer to the real 'senator' issue and I force myself to smile. Laugh. "I'm doing a favor. Jose is working on a story. He's outside." I stare at Colin to make my point.

I sure as shit am not going to hightail it out of here because of my cousin, but I don't want him hanging around either. I have a choice and need to deal with Colin sooner than later. I give the mic to the woman in line, then move to my cousin's side, grasping at what I can say to forestall this colossal shitstorm of when he goes running back to our grandmother. "So just what do you intend to do?"

"Meaning?"

I inhale, seeking to control the urge to throttle him. "For your sake, you'd better not start some jackass gossip about Jose and his project with the senator. Now, if you don't mind, I've got work to do."

Dammit, I feel hollow saying Jose's name, using my friend to throw Colin off the real trail. It's not like I don't intend to fully work in D.C. for Grey, but suddenly I see that the lines are well past blurred. There's a plan in motion tying Christian and me together—it's changing, but not fast enough.

I can't explain or dissect this overarching feeling of why Christian affects me so deeply, but what I do know is whatever this thing is between us, I can't turn it off. And I'm not about to run away just because it's unconventional.

People from the audience are shifting, piercing us with sharp glances. Colin takes hold of my elbow and steers me to the back of the aisle, out of earshot of those around. "Jose's just a journalist. No one really cares about one media monger."

He sounds sterner and in turn, I get a whole lot more serious. "Are you willing to say that online or tweet it? 'Cause I'm not—I'd never think or say it! Neither would Gran or Pop for that matter."

"Let's talk outside." Motioning with a jerk of his thumb, he asks, "Can you?"

"For a minute." I drop the bag of buttons, stickers, and flags I was handing out on a table at the rear of the aisle.

I walk toward the exit. With each step, my stomach wrenches. I've got to hide how close to _working_ with a senator I am—how close one senator is to owning me. Maybe if Colin thinks I'm still writing for the Globe, he'll back off. Leave me in peace. Trying to define the reasons why I'm willing to not only risk my future, but am spinning lie after lie to my cousin leaves me without an answer—other than I emphatically want what Christian offers me.

The more I try to compartmentalize my ideas concerning the man who's soon to be my Dom, the more complicated my thoughts become. Maybe that's a warning—a sure sign that what I'm doing is wrong. If I want to, sure I can step down—not go to D.C. Who'd care? Jose would be disappointed, but he'd understand. Not school—I've done more than enough internships. Sure as heck, not my family if they got a whiff of the truth.

Pausing, I turn back and stare at the stage…what about Christian? How much would he truly care? Sure, he's got a possessive streak a mile wide. But would he really be pissed? For about five seconds—okay maybe a week. He wants me with him, but beyond a hard fuck… do I really matter? Or is it his nature to control—his need to dominate—that he's reacting to? Eventually, a man like Grey bangs his way out of one bed and into another.

How will it feel when I'm his _real intern_ surrounded by real staff and possibly in the WHITE HOUSE, near the President of the United States! _Hello?_

I didn't think about that one until now. Shit. Oh shit! I have more than enough credits to place me one semester away from graduating and if I opted to write a thesis, then I could spend my time in the library. My ivory tower as Grey calls it. Safe and secure.

Oh, God! Why am I torturing myself this way? Survey says: my grandparents' undue power grab needs to be dismantled. Only when I'm near them or their desire to assert control, do I feel less than adequate. I rub my hand over my forehead and push my glasses up the bridge of my nose, heading along the dim passageway toward the exit. I follow Colin through the rear fire door and stop short.

"What in the fuck are you doing?" he asks, crossing his arms like he's got some right to know…interfere in my life.

Instead of giving into my frustration and yelling at him, I stop. I'm not going to play this game on my cousin's terms. I fold the program in my hands as I pull myself together. Process what my idiot cousin wants to hear and what I can possibly say that he'll eat up with a spoon.

"Jesus, Colin. What do you think? I'm on a project."

"Then why didn't Nolen say that?"

"Because it's not my own. I'm co-researching a piece with Jose. One he's doing for the _Post_. Not one of Gran's affiliates—so shoot me."

"I don't understand. Another internship?"

"Yes. That's what people do who want to build a network of connections. I have everything set up. But if you say anything to anybody, then it's going to screw with my ability to get information from uninhibited sources."

"You're serious about writing? As a career? I doubt our grandparents would agree."

"Oh right. I could be like you, Colin. What is that you do again?" I'm callous but I don't care. He needs to remember I'm not in a league with him in how he siphons funds in lieu of falling in line with a career, or heaven forbid, standing on his own two feet. He's Gertrude's son and like his mother, he fucks people right and left to get what he wants.

"Look, don't get all pissy with me." Colin stops and presses his lips together. "You've got to be realistic. Don't you think I had plans…once?"

"I can't recall you doing much more than trading gossip for family favor. So no. I don't." I tone down my desire to tear his head off, and jerk open the door, stuffing the folded program into the jamb, not about to get locked out here with him. "If you start trouble, I'll be so far up your ass you won't know where you stop and I start. Don't even think about backstabbing me!"

It's chilly outside in the late afternoon and on this side of the building, we're standing in the shadow as dry bits of leaves and dirt lift up into the breeze. He shoves his hands into his pockets. "Then give me something to report."

I start to tremble, I'm so angry that Colin believes he can blackmail me. "Are you mental?"

"Not in the least."

I blink and feel my eyebrows knitting together. "Um, correct me, but aren't there other methods to earn money besides crafting gossip…about me?"

Colin regards me, his eyes flattening—he's pissed but he's poised. "That's exactly what you're doing with the tabloid story journalism you sling. I've read what you write. I'm not much different. My circulation is slightly lower—and like you, I don't lie."

"I've never thrown anyone under the bus and yes. You do lie. Bending the truth with half the story is a lie."

"That's conjecture and I disagree," he replies, smiling smugly.

"So did you draw a straw…and my name came up, this time? Obviously, you had a reason to come here today besides scoping out politics."

"Come again?"

Inhaling, I try to remain in control. "How did you suddenly decide that today, I was the one? You didn't just show up because of Nolan. What process of elimination did you use when we've got a family full of people you could 'report' on?"

Colin scrubs his hand down his face. "If I tell you, you won't like it."

"I can tell you, I don't like 'it' right now. This can't get much worse."

He cocks a brow, then he drops his gaze down my body and his smile widens. "Dark-haired bombshell. Close to graduation. Gran and Pop discuss you relentlessly. You're what the media calls a _hot topic_. Am I right? I'm talking huge."

I was wrong. He's right. I can get a lot angrier. "Well, here's a response. No two. Fuck you." I shoot him two birds. "Okay, I think I made myself clear."

He steps in front of me to stop me from leaving. "Look, people are already imbedded in their lives. Only you're a loose end. Give me something. You don't date. You go to school. Run track. Write. That's got sleeper written all over it. When I look at you, something doesn't compute. You're gorgeous. A Steele _and_ a Stillman, and your future is… a blank slate."

"Not if I write for a living!" I shove his arm, exhaling sharply.

"Say what you will. That's not going to happen. Tell me something juicy. Jesus, you're hooked up with a United States Senator. Have you met anyone from his entourage worth a date? All those Ivy League staffers…better find someone quick if you think being a journalist will support your lifestyle."

"What does that mean?"

"Your tastes run to caviar and champagne. Not pizza and beer. Either you go the Citibank route, or marry. We both know, _you_ don't have the usual trust fund—not with how your mom refused to fall in line and no dad to help you out."

I stare at him. My body goes numb at the mention of my father. "Get out of my way!" I speak between clenched teeth. If I hit this sack of shit, I don't think I'll stop.

"Dearest cousin, this jaunt with the senator is short-term. The man is going to get tired of politics in a term or two, and return to his law firm. Get married, produce 2.5 kids, and coach soccer. End of story. Happy as the retired Senator Grey. It's not like he's going to be president someday. His need of you, or _your name_ is limited. I don't need a crystal ball to tell you his future…but yours. Christ, we're all dying to know what you'll be doing in a year."

"Colin, you're a fucking jackass." My hands are down, but immediately I raise them back up, giving him two flying fingers. "Here's an encore!"

He closes his eyes and as he shakes his head, I turn to retreat back into the auditorium but Colin reaches out and hooks his fingers around my arm, stopping me.

"Let go of me!" I reach up for his shirt, yanking him as I'm ramped up on adrenaline. I don't stop until I push him back against the building wall.

His eyes go wide. "Just give me a crumb. Something I can use. Gran eats up anything that sounds reasonable."

"What's wrong with you? How can you be a Stillman and crawl on your belly like you do? You recalibrate the Richter scale of torrential screw-ups."

"Fine. Be closed lipped. I'll let Gran know you're doing your journalist shtick. But when this little hobby of yours blows up in your face, don't come crying to me."

"I swear to God…I'll kill you. Screw with me and see what happens!" I stare at him and he doesn't react. Just looks back at me—observing me.

"I can't say I have ever seen you this worked up, Ana. All I'm asking for…is what direction are you heading? Give me a clue."

Jesus! I've given way too much away. I let go of him, disgusted. If we get into a brawl—it won't go unnoticed. "Why don't you focus on yourself? You could just say nothing and rejoin the human race!"

"And what will that get me?" he snaps.

I can't believe we're blood relatives. I shake my head, stepping back from him. "Nothing and that's what you deserve."

"You've got a plan. A plot. Tick. Tock."

I look into his eyes. My heart is racing. I want to slap his face. "Don't walk away mad, Colin. Just walk the hell away before I call Gran and tell her you were here, trying to blackmail me into making up shit you can sell."

"Ana, you'll regret my offer. Mark my fucking words!"

I watch him spin on his heel and stride away, slinking next to the building until he rounds the corner, and is gone. My flaming face burns hotter with my rocketing outrage and blistering anger. I lean against the door, forcing myself to slow down so I'm not huffing like an enraged bull. The poison dart Colin cast is hard to ignore. _Gerrymandering? _Sure Nora ate up my family affiliation, but Christian…?

_Stop! This is stupid to let Colin pollute my thoughts._ This is what my family does to manipulate. At the door, I pause and think. What am I going to do? Forget next year, I need to figure out the night ahead. Christian's more than my boss. He's my biggest secret within a widening circle. I don't want him touched by the place where my demons congregate—leeches like Colin. I want to scream in frustration until my throat is raw.

But I can't upset Christian. Not when he's on a roll with his supporters. This is _my_ problem, not his. He'll see right through me if I go back inside. No way can I tell him nothing is wrong—he'll know I'm lying.

Every time I think I can hide one stinking thing from him, he proves me wrong. It's a little over an hour before the cocktail party and dinner. I pull out my phone and text Grey. He doesn't need my problems. Better he be upset, and I'll think of something to tell him besides the truth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~MORE TO COM

Thank you for reading and your support. I divided chapters so they're not soooo long. I'll update tomorrow. Hope you're around to see what happens when Ana and Christian finally meet up.

If you're wondering about the HEA, let me clarify. In romance an HEA is sort of type of closure and because we haven't said the "L" word, when this installment ends, it's not an HEA in how we normally confront them. BUT that doesn't mean these two are left hanging. I don't and won't do that to you. This won't be like FSOG's ending. As you can see, we're spinning differently here. These two connect but we're a far distance between in lust and in love.

Alternate titles for this series might be:

Installment One: _In Lust Soooo Bad_

Installment Two: _We Fuck Like Demons and Okay… Maybe I Like You_

Installment Three: _Could This Be Love?_

Installment Four: _And Baby Makes Three. _(If you think this dissolves into la-de-da land of vanilla romance, ah hell. Think again. Crazy CG goes off the deep dark end when AS carries his baby.)

So we're headed into the land of love, just not this time. Lust. Like. Love. Is this real…?

Laters. xo


	17. CLICK CLICK BOOM!

**CLICK. CLICK. BOOM!**

Ana Steele

**_THERE HE IS_**. I enter the ballroom and feel my whole body attune to him. Senator Christian Grey in his Savile Row black suit and red silk tie. I stick to the perimeter of the ballroom, smile and quasi mingle with the guests all here to hear Christian speak. Mayor Fulton introduces him. Christian takes the podium and the lights lower. Scouring the area, I scan the tables with filled seats except one half-way across the ballroom.

"Thank you, Mayor," Christian says. "Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you've not heard the best speech of the evening…already." People laugh in response.

Weaving my way through the packed room, I slip onto the empty seat, smile and nod to the others at the table, but my attention is on the man charming us all from the stage.

Christian's face turns serious. "Tonight, I'm here to talk about peace. More than what we already have and enjoy in the United States. I'm talking about world peace. What we pray for and what we've been called to defend." People clap, stopping him from speaking. When he continues, he says, "The Middle East is in an upheaval and we're on the verge of exiting one war, and possibly entering another. This isn't the time to rest. This is the time for action."

Grey talks about his vision for the U.S., for reinvigorating the economy, for quelling violence and joblessness, for the tragic loss of life overseas, and why now more than ever we, as a country, must unite.

For a man who enjoys smacking my ass, pulling my hair, and wants to make me his property—at this moment, I don't see him as the gorgeous guy with his face between my legs. He's the senatorial candidate who has my heart pounding, my hands clapping, and a stream of hope swelling in my chest.

He speaks in a measured cadence. His deep voice punctuates the syllables with Southern charm. At the end, he smiles, waves, and I can't believe, his speech is over. Entranced, I want to hear more. Everyone around me stands. My heart clamors and I bound to my feet with the room gone wild, clapping, and I don't care. I put my fingers in my mouth and blow out an ear piercing whistle. Every person I cross glances with is smiling. It's like earlier today—another contagious contact high—and the music starts up, _It's Time_. Imagine Dragons…his campaign song, and then the contained energy within the room explodes.

The fixed bodies turn into a fluid wave with flashes of light and I watch as several women line up next to the stage, waving to Christian. The people in the aisle behind me thump each other on the back, wearing his campaign button or a few, and the buzz of voices gets louder. Drinks are being served and I thread my way through the crowd, slowly savoring the ticking seconds where I hover and freely watch him _IRT_, his forte and what a strength.

He's the type of politician who's pure charisma in person. It's no wonder he's burning up the map.

Colin couldn't be more wrong if he tried. Christian very well possesses the makings of a presidential candidate, and I wonder about his aspirations. What does his future hold? Strange, I don't have a clue about mine in any firm absolutes, but here I'm resolute in thinking of his. Running for president—the goal—would require much planning. It's a fair question and I'm going to ask him tonight.

A few feet away and it's all I can do to restrain myself these last couple of steps. When I'm in back of him, listening to him thank people for coming and for their support, I stop and enjoy the view. He holds a drink, and has yet to sip. His broad shoulders stretch his jacket into a remarkable V-shape, and I long to reach out and run my fingers along the edge of his body.

_God, this man is so sculpted. He might as well be carved out of stone._ I smile at the thought and speak his name in a whisper-soft voice, "Christian?"

Perhaps I'm hoping he doesn't hear me so I can stroke my fingers down his muscular arm as if employing an innocent attempt at garnering his attention. Yet true to form, his name is barely out of my mouth and he swings toward me. His flinty eyes forcefully lock onto mine and the impact makes me both dizzy and hungry all at once.

"Where've you been?" he growls, his expression expectant yet also intense and focused on me. He's clean shaven as he was this morning, but in a dark suit and starched white shirt, he's breath-teasingly beautiful.

"An emergency. I apologize. I had to take care of some family business before we leave tomorrow. I'm so embarrassed at running out. My cousin just showed up a day early and several million brain cells short. I promise, nothing like that will happen again."

"Oh, I see." His eyes glint brighter but don't hold mine when he lowers his gaze down my body.

"But I'm here now. Ready and able." I wait, tension building, something is brewing. His eyes devour me. Is he going to say something—do something besides stare?

I'm wearing a formfitting red gown with a teasing, yet proper décolletage. A floor-length, swanky gown complete with beading on the bodice that jingles seductively as I move—like now. His nostrils flare as his gaze roams lower and lower then pauses. I'm sure he's gotten an eyeful of my excessively high heels—strappy silver stilettos—peeking out the side slit of my dress. He's got a thing for sexy shoes, and I'm counting the seconds until I hear his response. _One-one thousand. Two-two thousand. Three-three—_

"So are you here to stop by on your way out the door or what's your purpose?"

Not the response I was expecting and I stare up at him, momentarily stunned. "I'm here on official business. Your intern." I reply, not liking his tone. "Unless that's changed, Senator Grey."

The muscle ticking at the side of his handsome cheek gives him an aura of barely contained alpha masculinity—two clicks north of a rampage. From my little-stocked knowledge bank, Christian's ready to blow.

He laughs. "Official business? Don't use big words you don't understand."

_Click._

_Click. _

_Boom!_

"Excuse me?" I scoff.

"See if you can keep up without disappearing." He stares down at me, cocking his eyebrow.

_What's up with him?_ And like clockwork a very beautiful brunette sidles up next to him before I can respond.

"Senator Grey, I'm seated next to you tonight," she purrs and I bite my tongue as a line of fire in my veins ignites.

_Oh just you wait!_ I'm going to give him an earful when we're alone.

"Ah, Mrs. Mansfield," he replies. "An honor."

Great. This must be Mrs. Mansfield. A huge _fan_ of his. The one Nora mentioned as having made a gigantic donation. I plaster a smile on my face, realizing this is what's expected of me. He takes her hand and shakes, squeezes, and they trade compliments.

"Then shall we?" he replies to her, and I prepare to get out my cell to check the seating charts. Where in the hell am I supposed to go? I can't believe I didn't think about my own seat in all the hubbub. Some intern!

"Not so fast," he snarls, towering at my side, his fingers on my arm.

I turn and see Mrs. Mansfield speaking with another woman. They look like a pair of cougars on a hunt and then I get what…or rather who is their prize. Christian curls his fingers further over my elbow, jerking his chin toward the largest table in the room. His. "This way, Ms. Steele."

"I don't understand. Your table is booked. Nora and I discussed each seat. Aren't I…."

His stare consumes me and I stop babbling. His table has some big name players and I never imagined I'd be sitting with him tonight.

"You're seated on my right." Christian lowers his voice, bringing his lips inches from my ear. "Do you need help remembering your duties?"

I feel the pressure of his fingers tighten on my skin and I shake my head. "No. I don't need a reminder."

"I'm happy to provide a refresher. Just say the word, little _intern_." He drops his gaze down to my chest, the muscle along his jaw quirking faster.

God, I want to reach up and run my fingers along his jaw. Trace his mouth—then yank handfuls of his hair until he feels a small piece of the pain that's slicing through me. When he releases my arm and smiles at Mrs. Mansfield, I want to shout, step between them until it's only me he sees.

Of course, Senator Grey appears ready and willing to charm this women stupid, beginning with his customary panty-melting grin. He introduces me as his staff but the women can't peel their eyes off Christian, especially Mansfield. She's positively besotted by him.

Dinner is called and as we walk toward the table, I clench my teeth as Grey converses with her. I find out that the other woman is another huge campaign supporter. In their midst, he's smooth, their voices drone on and on… _la-la-la_.

We sit and introductions are made. I'm seated next to a CEO who informs me his wife couldn't make it. Apparently, I'm seated in her spot. His eyes feast on my chest and I'm repulsed but smile and nod. I can discuss a myriad of subjects mindlessly—I've got years of experience. I respond, off my game, scrambling to recall the packet of information Nora supplied. Drinks are served, then there's the food. I don't taste anything. I'm seething sitting next to Christian as he basically ignores me the whole time.

People near me appear more relaxed, unlike me, and the conversation becomes lively around the table. The others ask about my name, and then I remember I'm wearing a name tag. They ask question after question about my family connections, which of course I downplay, using well-timed questions to hide behind.

Each and every second, I'm hyper aware of Grey and his fan girls. The other woman pays more attention to the man seated next to her, leaving Mansfield a giggling mess. She flashes Christian her ultra-white bright veneers, leaning forward to display her salon purchased tan and barely concealed rack.

If I could roll my eyes any louder I would in a heartbeat.

Mansfield sweeps of her fingers along his arm; obviously, she wants more and touches him for the umpteenth time. Her touch on him annoys me to no end, and I'm holding my breath, waiting for the next time she seeks him out—first just a squeeze to his forearm that leads to a curling of her fingers on his sleeve, followed by a trailing of her hand to his. When she taps her fingers along his chest, enough is enough. I'm on the verge of shouting, _get a room_ as I sit on the edge of my chair, watching his fanatic groupie.

He does nothing to stop the woman. He talks, smiles, and has the table laughing. My face grows hotter and my fuse gets shorter. He's seeking purchase within me for his need for…._payback_? But that doesn't seem probable. What is it that's got him going and now me in turn? Dammit, he can't still be mad that I bailed. I supplied excuse, albeit an imperfect excuse—and I think about Colin. I furrow my brow. _Colin_.

"Senator Grey. Do you mind?" A man carrying a camera smiles in back of the CEO's chair, and I hear Christian's reply.

"Go right ahead."

The photographer nods to a woman next to him, and she drums her fingers on the screen of a tablet. She begins typing, her eyes traveling to each person seated at our table, darting toward the name tags, and when she gets to me, she does a double-take, and I feel my body grow cold.

She taps the cameraman's arm and juts her chin. I've had my fair share of photo opt moments in the past. Cocktail parties and celebrations with the family. I watch as the photographer shifts position. He lifts and points his camera across the table, aiming at me, and then there's a flash. The burst of light is niggling.

I'm back to thinking about my idiot cousin…his sudden appearance today, hovering like a black cloud… except for all the flashes from the guy near us, snapping countless photographs like what's going on now.

The photographer at the side of the table begins going full force, snapping streams of photographs. Suddenly, everyone freezes and plasters on faker than shit smiles. I can't bear to look at Christian…but I do. I only get a glimpse of his profile and he's not smiling. I look away just as fast. These photographs that will be in the paper. Society section—the photos could filter back to social media outlets, associated press…the list is endless. Dammit, these pictures could gain traction.

Of course they will—isn't that what Nora said when I sent her a slew from today? Their PR team will be all over this tonight—it's Christian's last campaign stop for a while.

What did I think? I'd be an intern, stuck in some back office? Not with a name like _Steele_. I'm seated on the right of a powerful man, and he's working the crowd.

Strange that my cousin didn't call me, but showed up, dropping a bomb into my lap… and I can see Colin's intentions, plain as day. He didn't try to hide the fact of what he was doing—using me like a tool! I was played by Colin…and right now, he's probably talking shit about me. I glance around—avoiding looking directly into the camera lens.

One thought blares. _Is this another version of me being sold?_ I'm so tired of being used.

Now, I see red. Not the Senator Grey silk tie kind or my Valentino red dress kind, but the kind that has me in need of settling a score. First things first. I'm going to deal with my family and then deal with Christian. Find out exactly what's eating him and the bigger gerrymandering issue. Is he using me—my name—to promote himself?

Right now, I no longer care what my family thinks. I'm going to come clean and tell them to back off like I should have done years ago. I don't care if they disown me. Damn, it might be better to sever the suffocating Stillman ties. I can't believe I've waited this long to stand up to them. Once I'm a Steele without a family, maybe Grey's sudden interest in me will dwindle. Hah! I can hardly wait to tell him and see his face, when I announce I'm a free agent!

I excuse myself to the CEO, and stride toward the entrance doorway leading from the ballroom. I'm going to call Gran and discuss her other grandchild and what a complete moron he is and how their collective level of gossiping has sunk so low, I want no part in their little world. Effectively, I'm done with them.

I'm not five paces down the hall when I feel my arm whipped backward and a set of fingers digging into my flesh. "What the—" I stop my whisper-snarl and stare up into Grey's very angry face.

"Where in the hell are you going?" he demands in a low voice. His eyes are like ice—cold and more cutting than his words.

Without considering how this will fall, I let loose. "What would it even matter? Haven't you got enough women falling all over themselves in there?"

With a snap of his arm, he takes hold of my wrist and tugs me closer. "You don't just leave. You should have come and told me. Face-to-face. I don't care if I'm on stage or sitting with the president. You come find me and talk to me. There's no disappearing between us."

"We'll see!"

"What the hell does that mean?" He thunders quietly.

"I have to set someone straight. I had a visitor came to campus today. You don't understand my overbearing family but I'm through with them. And if that means, I'm no longer on your team, then just tell me. I'm a big girl!"

"Who was that guy who you were talking to…in the aisle at Harvard? The one cornering you."

I hadn't actually said my cousin was a guy. Only that my family required an emergency exit, and left the choice of a follow-up phone call in Christian's court. I replay the campus talk and there's Colin lurking in the aisle. Okay, I get a small part of why the man in front of me is pissed.

"That was my cousin." I stow my breath and hold his gaze, tapping into the realization that this means I might have to explain how fucked up my family really is to see if he understands how far I'm about to go. I'll be the opposite to an advantage if I get placed on the Stillman 'S' list. "That guy is Colin Stillman and he's just my cousin. My very annoying family relation and just so you know, I'm about to cut all ties to them. I'm a Steele only in name. I'm a Stillman but part of the black sheep section, and after tonight, might not be welcomed anywhere near them."

For a second, we stare at each other. Then he tilts his head to the side. "Dinner is that way," he says in a steely voice.

"I did my duty. It's over."

"Not where I'm concerned. I don't care about your family. You can have them or not. I'm only interested in you."

One of the hotel staff announces that dessert is being served. A few guests talking on cells within the hallway retreat back inside. People have paid good money to sit at Grey's table and I expect to see him backtrack in some fashion toward the ballroom entrance.

"I need a moment." I don't know what to say—his admission confounds me. I'm not out of control, just confused.

He doesn't make a move to leave me. "Come with me," he commands.

"No, I don't want to go back inside… not right now. I have to make a phone call."

"Who said anything about going back there?" He yanks me to him and I collide against the hard surface of his body but I falter as though I'm stumbling. "You're coming with me!"

He moves, striding farther from the ballroom doorway with me in tow. One of his rock hard arms is curled around my waist, hauling me down a corridor, and suddenly we're standing in front of the rear elevator. He hits the button and the doors part. Once inside, he comes at me with an inescapable force and there's nowhere to hide. He plants both his hands on either side of my head, and stares down at me. "You. Are. Mine."

"Is that what you'll tell the next woman you find?"

"Little girl, don't push your luck tonight! What don't you understand about the premise that you belong to me?"

"Well, maybe it's because I don't!" I slam my hands down on his chest and he doesn't respond—not initially.

His eyes narrow and the clicking muscle in his jaw bleats faster. "Now see, that's a lie, darling." He drops the northern tinge to his voice and his words drip with the honeyed twang of sexy rolled Georgia syllables. I feel the heat of him and he leans forward, his breath caressing my face, neck, and chest in sharp, hot puffs of air.

"I'm not lying."

"Yes. You are and you do it all the time by denying what you feel…what you want. Tell me you don't want me inside you right this second."

I shake my head but he's right. I'm lying. I'm hot and bothered, and hungry for him. He's asking and all I have to do is admit. All I have to do is cave. All I have to do is leap. No one is holding me back, if I follow my heart.

"You know I do. Please."

His eyes glimmer and his lips remain firmly pressed together. "Please what?" he retorts roughly against my cheek. "You want this? How much? I understand you're concerned about the risk. So am I, but fuck! You're worth it!"

He moves, delivering a full body press of him into me. We fit and feel delicious melding together. I catch my lip between my teeth to suppress the moan gliding over my tongue. His commanding body blanketing me is too hard to deny. Nothing compares. Together we may be a mistake—but it'd be worse if I walked away. _Just tell him!_

I look up into his smoky eyes—his galvanizing gaze that I first noticed and don't want to hide from or escape.

"Yes," I assure him. "I do."

"Tonight, I'm going to be unrelenting where you're concerned." Leaning closer, he lowers his face and inhales along my temple. "Baby, I'm going to consume you. All of you."

"Greedy?"

"Where you're concerned?" A smile tugs at his lips even though he rolls his intense eyes. "Affirmative!"

I laugh as we look at each other. "Good thing. You're not alone," I reply, holding his silk tie in my hand.

Christian skims his fingers roughly over my body, not stopping until he cups my ass and squeezes my cheeks with both his hands. "God, I love the way you feel and smell."

I push forward, seeking him. Needing him. I'm on the verge of groaning… The elevator dings and the doors open. It's the eleventh floor. I stiffen and whisper, trying to push him off me. "What are we doing here? There might be…hotel guests nearby."

"Don't freak out. It's the back hallway. We need to talk." He reaches over and slams his hand on the 'stop' button.

When he resumes touching me, sliding his hands up to my hips and possessively he pulls me to him, I wait and wonder if he was serious about the talking part. His brow slightly lifts, yet he remains silent. Staring. I want him to kiss me. And in that moment, it's clear. I hunger for his dominance that twines with unending intimacy—so dark and deep it's dangerous.

I can't breathe. I'm waiting to hear him say something that'll erode the confusion of today. Our gazes lock, deepening, and he says low, leaning into me, "There's no one but you. Fuck, don't you understand?"

He pauses and his expression that holds a question doesn't change. His carved jaw is tight—the arrogance I find so appealing, and so bewildering, beckons to me. I run my fingers along his cheek as I ached to do earlier, and now this ache is out of control.

"What are we doing?"

"Deciding," he says, lifting his hand. He traces my cheek, and then his expression that has always been a wall of mystery, flickers and I see him. Vulnerable and tender in his touch. He's letting me in and the twinge in my chest implodes.

"Yeah?" I answer him softly.

"And…" He presses his mouth to mine. A long, sweet kiss at first that evolves into hotter and harder. That's what we do.

He pushes open my lips, cupping the back of my head, sucking nips before he thrusts his tongue inside my mouth. We groan simultaneously as our tongues tangle, and he forces me back to the wall until I'm perfectly pinned by him. He's hard in all the right places. A mirage but he's let me in, trusting me. As he presses his rigid cock into my belly, I know this isn't just sex.

No matter if our secret is found out—displayed for the world to see, we have more. The secret under the secret.

I shudder from the jolt of electricity racing through me. I flex my hips, seeking more of him. It's what I've wanted from the start. We pause and I pull back, a few inches to look up into his eyes. "We should have done this right from the start."

"Our first kiss…I think we tried," he finally replies, palming his hands over my bottom. He hikes my cheeks, splaying me open to him, turning us until it's his back to the wall. "I hear what you're saying. Baby, I need you."

He opens a 'door' that lies between us, and it swings both way. I have to be honest—as honest as he's being.

"Good thing," I whisper, riding the ache for him that is now a wildfire, torching my nerve endings, searing the coiled lust residing deep in my belly, racing lower, in between my legs. "I want to be with you. I don't understand this magnetic pull that connects us, but I'm in. All the way!"

"I'll take care of you. You won't be sorry. Trust me."

"I do."

Seamlessly, he feathers his fingers along my face, groaning into my mouth, covering my lips with his until I'm clawing at his jacket, needing more—skin-on-skin. "What about dessert?" I ask. "You can't just leave."

"Oh no?" he laughs.

"No! We have to—"

He presses a finger to my lips, silencing my stream of concern. "I found someone to cover my place," he replies.

"Shaking my head, I don't understand. "Who?"

He glances down then replies. "Clooney was in town and he's covering my spot. I'm sure he'll do just fine."

"Wait a minute. You and him trade favors?"

"Just one and now we're square."

"And what if I want to go and meet the man?"

"Not tonight," he chuckles as he answers, steering me off the elevator. "I'm done sharing you with strange men."

Down in front of his room, he inserts the key and holds the door open for me to enter. Again, he follows behind me, without touching my skin, but I feel his presence, a heat wave overtaking my senses. "Where to?"

"Stop here," he says as we come to the sofa. "I want to undress you."

His fingers press onto my skin, moving down and I gasp. The sound of my zipper lowering sends a tingle down my spine. My gown drifts apart as he lets go and it falls to the carpet. The cool tease of air skims across my skin that he bares but does not touch.

"Turn around," he whispers and my nipples tighten at the sound of hunger in his voice. "I'm going to enjoy my own private dessert. The one I've waited hours to sample and savor."

I do as he says, my breathing constrained as I stand there in my heels and panties. His eyes lock onto mine. No bra, I stand there exposed to him on so many levels.

"So beautiful and such a ballbuster."

"Pot. Kettle. Grey. Black."

"Mmm," he murmurs, "something like that."

Reaching up, he removes a pin from my hair. Arduously, he pulls another pin free. Additive is how he touches me. I shiver each time he lets one drop to the floor. His eyes watch me, then watches as the fall of my hair spreads along my shoulders. A heavy sensuous curtain across my naked breasts. Without warning, he takes hold of my arms and brings me close to him, and once again, it's me virtually naked and him partially clothed. Yet unlike before, tonight there's more simmering to the surface. We're together. Not fully and his hands hold us…still. For several silent seconds, we're achingly near each other, pure torture and less than an inch apart.

"Christian," I whisper his name.

"What do you want, Ana?" he asks—doesn't demand to know.

"**You. I want you. Naked."**

~~~~~~ MORE TO COME

**Christian is up tomorrow. **

**IT'S A LONG **

**HOT**

**HARD**

**AND I MIGHT DIVIDE.**

** Do you want TO JET in free fall or two shorts kicks?**

And...if you like this story, let me know. It won't be up forever.

For those of you who write, you know that the way our documents are stored all together, it's super hard to keep track of them. I do appreciate the messages you write to me, and will discuss ad infinitum the tenets of what's fiction, the rules of the road for romance, and the finer elements of erotica. This is my shtick.

I'm loud.

Fuck, I'm proud. I DIG EROTICA AND DOING IT FSO TWISTED feels just right.

SO AGAIN, thank you for coming with me on this erotic journey. You guys have given me the support to write this balls to the wall. Hell yeah!

In a few weeks, expect to see the next installment. I'll put up a teaser chapter to wet your whistle.

VETTING THE SENATOR.

We're going to the private and elite CLUBHOUSE. There are twists, so if you think it's just A & C in a dungeon, think again. We're taking the Capitol by storm.

Christian and Ana renegotiate their relationship beyond hot hard sex. Of course, we'll burn them a little and forge their connection into pure STEEL!

Laters…until tomorrow.

xox


	18. HOW FAR? Long and Hard

Okay, this is it!

Let's take off the gloves.

It's time uncover Christian's wounds.

With Ana, can he?

**OneRepublic - Counting Stars **is the playlist song for this WHOLE STORY.

THIS CHAPTER: U2 – Mysterious Ways

**A-D-U-L-T CONTENT!**

IF MATURE THEMED (CODE WORDS FOR EROTICA) ISN'T YOUR THING...**STEP BACK. FAR FAR BACK!**

Ready? Let's do this!

_**How far?**_

CURLING MY fingers over Ana's hips, I back her up a couple of steps, until she's caught between me and the side of the sofa. Will this girl let me possess her completely when she discovers how fucked up I am inside? There's only one answer I'm willing to entertain. Lifting my hands, I brush back the hair from her face, needing to see her eyes. "Anastasia, you're mine and if you want naked…then yes. But I get you in return. Every last part of you!"

"Is this a one-time deal?"

I stare into her eyes—lightest of blue—keeper of my secret.

She's my sin.

The arrow, the error, the road to fucking hell.

What can I tell her?

Slowly, I trace my fingers down from her face and over her shoulders, hungry to take possession of her body. This act grounds me. Fucking her isn't a question—it's the answer.

The one I can deal with.

Cupping her glorious tits, I feel myself on the verge of exploding. Near to the edge as she moans…softly, provocatively.

Mind fucking me!

The sound of her voice resonates inside my head like a bomb going off. I'm so close to breaking every rule I've ever heard about, or could possibly conceive, to mark her inside and out. My goal is to brand her with my body, tasting every delicious inch of her skin, and taking her so deep, she'll remember this night forever. One night. Fuck, I want a million and one!

This is crazy. This is a head rush, an addictive trip, and this girl has me caught by my own intense, shredding hunger.

I thrum her tight nipples, pinching each tender tip between my thumb and forefinger, wanting her—something she has—that will alleviate this ever-widening, constant knifing agony that resides just under my skin.

"Say it again," I order her. "Tell me what do you want." I pinch her nipples harder, needing confirmation that she's on edge just as I am.

"You. I want you. Naked."

Her words echo, spurring me past caring about anything other than getting inside her. _"You. I want you. Naked."_ Those words unleash what I have fought for twenty-four hours and a lifetime, and I've got to possess her. Right now. Beneath me as I thrust my cock into her repeatedly.

Sliding my hand up to her neck, I don't stop until I'm holding the back of her head. "Baby," I say as I steady her, and capture her mouth. One taste of her pink marshmallow lips, and I can't stop. She's what I need. All of her.

Starting with the tender part of her lip—she's mine. I tease and suck the heart of her lip between my teeth and callously bite down. _C'mon_, I think. Show me you feel pain.

No yelp. No whimpering. Her only reaction is the bumping of her hips against mine, grazing her softness against my hard-on—tempting me to strip her naked, and tie her in innumerable ways to keep her imprisoned for my pleasure.

Again, I nip her but harder this time. She stiffens in my arms and yes….she whimpers. "Please, Christian."

Our eyes meet, and I see myself reflected in her unwavering gaze. Fuck! I'm diving into crystal blue pools too fast to slow my descent.

I yank a fistful of her hair. "Your voice. My name. That sounds so fucking perfect. Got to hear that when you come!"

Our gazes lock and the twinge in my chest explodes. That's it! I'm a beast. A fucker. The man who'll own this beauty—all of her. Crashing my mouth against hers, I tunnel my tongue between her lips, plunging forward until our tongues are entwining. I'm voracious for more.

We kiss without stopping, both of us rubbing our hands across each other's body. I crave her with a blinding intensity. I'm on the verge of madness.

"I need you," she whispers.

"Anastasia. Let me have you. Let me in." I move my fingers back to her tits and squeeze as I fuck her mouth, needing her. Needing everything she's got to give me.

She whimpers; the keening pitch ignites a blistering hunger only she incites. I've got to get her on her back, legs parted, and me thoroughly fucking her as she glosses my cock with her orgasm.

I pick her up in my arms, and then stride across the living room and into the bedroom, kicking the door closed. Tonight isn't just about savage screwing. I'm on edge and need to be naked with her. A skin-on-skin kind of connection.

In ten seconds, I'm going to be buried inside her, meticulously pounding my dick in and out as I watch her expressions. Memorize each detail of her.

Not the norm in my world where others watch me deliver hardcore gratifying encounters.

Sex between women and me—a combination where _me naked_ has never been a factor.

I decide who. I engineer the BDSM scene. I fuck. End of story.

For the last couple of years at the House, hook-ups contain hot, hard, fast sex. Names, not important to me.

Beds are for sleeping—only. With a woman, definitely out of the question…until now. Until I laid eyes on Anastasia. Now, the idea of letting her out of my sight, even for a second feels out of synch.

"Let me," she whispers and waits.

So fucking beautiful. My dark-haired minx.

I give a nod. Words—my thoughts are twisted, dangerous. I can't ever let her know how much she gets to me. Some dominant I'm turning out to be. A whipped Dom is more like it if I don't get my ass in gear.

Her hands slide under my jacket, warm and inviting. She pushes it off my shoulders as she stands near to naked before me. Her fingers are on my tie and she pulls the knot loose and starts to unbutton my shirt.

"What are you doing?" I asked half-dazed.

"For a pretty smart guy, sometimes you amaze me."

Her fingers move lower and lower, unbuttoning my shirt. When she tugs my tails from my trousers and touches her hands to my abs, I let out a raspy hiss. Our roles are reversed. I'm the one watching and waiting.

As seconds tick by, I hunger for more of her, like a junkie straining, struggling to score his next hit. _I've got to have all of her_. My muscles are tight bands, constricting around my bones, and I'm shaking from holding everything I feel in, everything I could say back.

I am so fucked!

How does Anastasia do it?

One way around this racing feeling of falling and it's to steer control my way.

"Let me," I echo her words, but mine come out hoarse. Demanding.

"But…" she says.

Our eyes meet. Our gazes lock. I raise an eyebrow. Steel my emotions.

Keep myself in check.

I'll do anything to sequester what she makes me feel.

She bites her incredible lower lip, the one that I own, and my cock hardens at the thought of her mouth wrapped around my crown. My hands take over as I unbuckle my belt and unzip my pants. I don't stop until I'm fully undressed.

"Well? Naked enough?" I smirk but watch her—the way her eyes zero in on the scars on my arms and shoulders—then move lower and she bites her lip. She doesn't ask what happened and but by tomorrow, she might. I don't care. I'll tell her the truth about my uncle who fucked up childhood. I stow those memories. Right now, it's just she and me. No nightmares.

"Gorgeous, you are a sight." Her lips quirk and she lowers her mystifying eyes down my body, and I swear to fucking God, I can feel the path of her gaze over my skin. Ah, so this is what it's like when I do that to her. I laugh and her eyes flash up to mine.

"What's so funny, Senator?"

I reach for her but she steps back. "Being treated like an object," I reply. "I like it."

"Oh you do, do you?"

"Roger that." She goes to move again but I'm ready, snagging hold on her arm. "Where are you going? From here on out, you don't move without permission. Got it?"

The artery in her neck pulsates too fast to count beats. The one I can't touch but want to. I'm strung out just standing next to her. Naked and my heart tripping.

"Sir, may I see if I can make this moment better?"

_Sir._ Fuuckk! My eyes lower to my cock. "Yeah. Suck me, little sub. Suck me hard or else I'll teach you how."

A smile pulls at the corners of her mouth and she sinks to her knees, taking hold of my cock in her warm palm. She gives me a hard squeeze and laughs right before she swipes her tongue across my crown.

"Anastasia," I hiss, threading my fingers through her hair, wrapping pure dark silk within each of my fists. My abs tense as she sucks my head into her hot mouth. The exquisite sensation is pure nirvana and I'm tempted to slam forward. Own this beauty's teasing lips.

"Look at me." I pull back, yanking with enough force to get her to stop and look up at me. She groans—her voice a scintillating vibration on my skin. I withdraw my cock, and tap my crown on her swollen and shiny lips.

"Christian. Let me," she pleads, licking her lips.

Tipping up her face, I stare down into her entrancing eyes. "I'm in charge here. I love your touch, your mouth, your pussy. But I'm top. You call me 'Sir' or 'Master' when we're naked. You give me your eyes—fuck every part of you is mine. Okay with that scenario?" If she's not, I'll haul her ass up on the bed and change her precious mind.

"Yes…._Master_," she hums the word over my head. "Sir, may I now _objectify _your cock?"

Staring down at her, I paint pre cum over her lips. "Go for it, baby."

She sucks my cock into her perfect made-for-sex mouth and holds me firmly in her grasp, licking me up and down, unleashing her secret weapon—her pierced tongue. Flicking the metal ball across my ridge, not once but over and over. My muscles stiffen as I move my hips faster, thrusting farther. Her tongue on my rod feels like a sweeping fan, a warm wet dream come true. Fuck, I can't contain the long rasp, escaping hoarsely from my mouth. I bend my legs, leaning lower, barreling into her mouth deeper until she's moaning my name.

"That's it, baby!"

"Mmm." She bobs her head up and down on my dick, and I curl my fingers in her hair as electrical darts shoot up my spine.

Sucking, licking, she takes all I give. Her voice is wicked in the stillness and has me thrusting into her mouth, across her lips and then I can't stop. I pump my hips, making her take me deeper and deeper down her throat. I'm racing, ahead of a firestorm.

"Fuck!" Bolts of ecstasy flicker, then fire catches at the base of my spine. And just when I think I can't withhold my release, I pummel my cock inside her mouth, over her tongue, then pull back on her hair and withdraw.

"Christian," she moans, wrapping her fingers around my cock.

My rod glistens from her saliva. "Take just my crown, beautiful."

She cinches her lips around my knob; unrelenting in how she sucks, refusing to let me out of her greedy little mouth, and I can't hold back.

"Anastasia," I groan, releasing a shot of cum across her tongue.

I rise up on my calves from the stinging sensation assaulting my muscles. Pleasure burns a path through my legs and higher into my torso, along my shoulders and spreading out along my nerve endings with one message: to keep going. Keep fucking her incredible mind-blowing-cock-sucking mouth. Simultaneously, I hunger to stop her and fuck her… but to forgo the feel of her lips—so unbelievable—I can't.

"Can you take more… all of me?" I ask.

She nods, then laughs and murmurs. "Your turn to _go for it_." She's mocking me, but I don't care.

Fuck. Rocking on my heels, I feed my crown deeper into her mouth until I'm hitting the back of her throat. "Baby, relax for me."

She nods and I thrust past the ring of muscle, sliding further than before. Blinking, her eyes go liquid as I force her to take all of me. A part of me wishes I could be gentle with her, but that would be self-sabotaging. If anything that idea prompts me to cover my tracks, and I fuck her mouth with greater force.

Over and over I thrust into her throat, until tears sprinkle down her cheeks. I try to stop, slow but she hooks her fingers behind my thighs and I groan, savoring the bobble of her mouth working steadfast on my shaft. We're in a BJ gauntlet—so erotically charged that I can't stop thrusting. I piston my hips, pick up the pace, so close to losing my mind.

She closes her crystal blue liquid eyes and I twist my fingers tighter into her hair. "No. Open your beautiful eyes and look at me. I want to see you as I fuck your unforgettable mouth."

I pump my hips, moving faster until I'm rocketing into a mind-blowing realm, past the point of no return. Ana sucks me harder, keeping her suction vise on my head and I'm there! Crashing over the edge, I jet a hot stream into her mouth. I'm thrusting and throbbing against her tongue as jolts of pleasure spark across my skin.

My entire body goes rigid as another spasm rips through me. She doesn't stop sucking me, but flicks her piercing across the tight bundle of nerves at the back of my dick. _HOLY FUUCCKK!_

I'm raring to go. A fucking machine. It's like I haven't even come. "Got to get inside you!"

I haul her up from her knees, steering her ahead of me onto the bed. I watch as she climbs onto the mattress, and pushes up onto her elbows.

"Down," I order, moving next to her, spreading her lovely legs apart. I'm so hard and focus my concentration on her pussy. Swiping my fingers between her legs, she's slick soft silk. Mine. All fucking mine.

My heart drums, ready to burst out of my chest. She pushes her heat against my fingers and I flash a glance up to her face. "You like giving head?"

"I do… to you." She laughs and her eyes beckon me.

"Better only be for me." Reaching down, I grab my cock—fuck, I'm so hard—pure steel and ravenous for this woman. I align my crown with her entrance and thrust forward. In one swift slide, I'm there. Buried deep inside her—mind-blowing to my senses.

"Christian. Fuck!" She gasps, her eyes rolling back in her beautiful head and she lifts her knees, taking me deeper inside.

"That's right." I take hold of her hips, pounding my cock between her slick folds.

I tell myself slow down, but I can't. She's under me—we're naked—in a bed. I'm hungry, horny, needing her clamped around me with her tight body. I curl my fingers over her slim hips, and flex back and piston roughly, without mercy, burying my length inside her. I lower my head and kiss her swollen lips, tasting myself in her mouth. I kiss her harder, forcing apart her lips until I'm lost in our kiss. Lost in her.

Hiking up her hips, I plunge my cock into her and haul her to me. Holding her still. Forcing her to take all of me. Sweat drips down my body as I withdraw my cock and plunge back into her again. She rakes her nails down my back, digging her fingers into my skin and I shudder in pleasure, my muscles cinching, and every synapse in my brain explodes. Earlier tonight, I'd pushed aside the mind-blowing contrast of her, or rather the risk she represents—pain versus Anastasia, sin versus sex—wrapped and underneath me. A path into my soul.

But now, I want it all. Her. Me. Us.

Good, dangerous, road to ruin. My own personal doorway is marked with a huge 'Anastasia' for a reason.

"Is this what you need?" I ask, hungry to hear her say 'yes.'

"Yes. So much," she says in a hoarse voice. Her pupils are large and her breath is fast.

"Anastasia," I reply, thrusting into her so deep. "I want all of you."

"Don't you know?" She reaches up and touches my face. "Christian, you've got me."

She's mine and I'm grinding my hips, suddenly detouring into a different route beyond fast and furious. With her under me and maybe because I came already, I want to withhold, take my time with her…this skin-on-skin fuck that I haven't done in forever. Arching upward, I press against her hips as we rock together. Lifting her, I guide her pussy, until she's swaying in a circuit as we move more synchronous than the gears in a watch.

We fuck in harmony. Each time my cock thrusts into her fully, our breaths punctuate our rhythm, our force—this consummate feeling of owning her and being out of my mind is matchless. I'm ready to rocket into orbit, but I want to take her with me. Keep her close.

That thought stuns me to the core and I hold back as I observe her, memorizing this night. What is it about her that has me falling under her spell?

Ever since I met her, she makes me feel like I'm not a commodity, like I'm flesh, blood, bone…a man… not a sound bite, not a bloodsucker, not for sale.

With Anastasia, I'm just me.

For a while, she keeps us slow, using tiny circular rotations of her hips, tiny nips, her teeth grazing all up and down my neck. But then she shifts closer, whispering, "I'm gonna shatter, Christian."

How can I tell her I'm right there with her? Absolutely, I want her to splinter apart like I'm about to. A voice whispers, "_Don't tell her the truth_."

Fuck. I bow out, vowing I'll hold on and hold in this feeling of needing her more than my next breath. I want Ana to be filled with as much—no more than what I'm feeling. Instead of sharing the truth, I bite her, nip her tender flesh, kiss her shoulder hard and then suck and suck a point on her skin until I'm certain she'll have a bruise marring her body. Another one—each a mark of me on the verge.

Proof. Silent. Jeering that she's inside me. I want more from her than anyone I have ever known, inexplicable and wholly irritating but also inescapable.

Only one recourse and that's to take from her all I can get. I dip my face until my mouth meets her other shoulder, skimming my lips to her neck, sucking the place where she covered up my bite marks from the other night with makeup. Not anymore.

We're sweating so I rub until each mark is no longer hidden on her skin. Soon enough, the outer evidence of us together will fade from view … unlike what we do tonight—that marks us indelibly.

We're naked… but I want her more than naked.

I won't stop until she's open to me all the way.

With me…all the way!

Tattooed as mine, ONLY MINE…in every fucking way!

Staring down at her, I slam my cock into her and demand, "Talk to me. Tell me what you want. Tell me what this feels like."

She looks up and meets my gaze, eyes half dazed and asks, "Why are you asking?"

"Because I want to know!"

Moving faster, harder now, she tells me what it's like to have me inside her with words strung out on a moan at first when I pound into her.

"Perfect. Like I can't get enough. I want you, Christian…like a drug."

"Tell me more."

I slow and she speaks in a pleading voice, "Please, don't stop."

Each sound she utters is tantalizing to my senses. I withhold and tease her with the head of my cock at her entrance, needing to see her come undone. "Look at us. We're perfect together."

"Incredible," she says.

"Keep talking and I'll keep fucking you."

"Prick," she groans out but smiles. "You're amazing. I don't know anyone like you." She lifts her head, watching my cock, and licks her incredible lips.

We're looking at our bodies come together, and then slide apart.

"Do you want more?" I stop if she stops talking.

"Senator Grey. Don't…play… the SOB card!"

Her voice is halting, her neck is arching, and she's raking her nails down my skin. My baby is close.

"You like it," I whisper, lifting her arms by the wrists over her head. Her legs tighten around my waist. She tells me she's near and that I need to be ready. "Little sub, come for me."

Against my neck, she whispers, "Sir, I want us to come together."

Fuck, I'm so ready with each swivel of her surreal hips, she brings me closer to the edge, closer to the moment I'm afraid I might tell her what I truly feel. How the hell is this even possible?

"God!" I groan. "Fuck. Anastasia, get there!"

I resume thrusting into her. Pounding my cock. I speed up my slams, moving and curling my fingers over her waist. I lift onto my knees, bringing her body up to me while I impale her with my cock as she clenches. Holy fuck, she squeezes my dick. Again, she spasms. That's it—I can't hold back and thrust into her with all I've got. My body—all of me…muscles, bone, and blood are on fire as I release with a force that shreds my thoughts.

Scalding pleasure tears through me as I fill her with my release. Thunderstruck, I fall onto the bed next to Ana, still imbedded deep inside her hot, tight body.

I pull her next to me.

Sweaty and panting, I say her name, "Anastasia."

Her name is all I can get out—the rest of what I feel stays safely locked within me until I meet her liquid blue eyes and my chest threatens to rip open. "You're beautiful. So fucking indescribable."

"You're the same," she murmurs, smiling.

I grin back at her as I lower my mouth to her skin, nuzzle her neck, and then kiss her pillow-soft lips until she pulls back. "I want to learn more about you. Take me to your club. Promise me."

I stare into her eyes, my pulse racing. "We'll go this Saturday."

"Tell me what to expect," she whispers, kissing my mouth.

"Expect to be owned."

"In front of everyone?" Her eyes widen.

I trace my fingers along her cheek. "I'll make sure everyone there knows you're mine. Only mine. The rest is up to you."

"I'm yours," she says, lowering her face to my chest.

No way to resist her and I wrap her in my arms, pulling her close, inhaling her scent, so deep inside my body, I'll be marked cell-by-cell by this girl. Our legs and arms are entangled, our sweaty bodies a mess, but for once, I can clearly see my future, and she's so fucking in it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ **THANK YOU FOR READING**.

This is the end…for now.

I'M CRAZY 'CAUSE I'M ACTUALLY TEARING UP UPLOADING THIS LAST CHAPTER. This is cathartic and humbling. It's been a rough and tumble journey.

If you like this story, be on the lookout for the teaser chapter coming soon for VETTING THE SENATOR.

Writing as fast as I can.

It's not easy to let something emotionally taxing go into the big world beyond, and I thank you all for the support you've shown. I absolutely couldn't have written this story and the next this raw. This unguarded.

AGAIN: Thank you for your support—it means more than you probably realize.

Soon, we'll share Vetted.

Laters. Xox

**Seduced by the Senator Playlist**

OneRepublic - Counting Stars

Moon Taxi - Mercury – Moon Taxi

Imagine Dragons - It's Time

Broken Bells -Control

Kongos - Come With Me Now

Benjamin Booker - Violent Shiver

Night Like This - LP

Maroon 5 - One More Night

Mumford & Sons - I Will Wait

Passenger - Let Her Go

Hozier - Take Me To Church

U2 – Mysterious Ways

SPOTIFY: SEDUCED BY THE SENATOR

If you can and are able… I need reviews for Amazon. I'll send you the formatted ebook for FREE. No spam. Just let me know you're hungry for a e-copy of _Seduced By The Senator_ when it hits Amazon. PM me and I'll add you to the list. It's growing and it's only fair, since you've taken this journey. So please let me know if you're willing and wanting one. Thanks!

The crazy train will return with Vetting.


	19. BADDEST of the Bad Men - Vetting 1

**AND LET THE TEASING BEGIN…**

**ADULT CONTENT –**

**We're starting slow but still for those who aren't interested in dirty, sweating hair-pulling S-E-X. **

**Vetting isn't for you.**

Enjoy this sample. It will change as I edit and revamp.

The entire installment (Book 2) VETTING THE SENATOR is almost finished. Yeehaw (!) and thank you for all your support and smacks to get this scorching mess up faster than not.

PROMISE we're gonna take these two in a screwed up bender with a curve-ball twist before the end you might not see coming. But it does.

Again, I don't do cliffhanger—lovers torn apart. At least not yet. And again, we're laying tracks for Installment III. I can't reveal the title, it'll give too much away about where we're going.

Hands clapping for you.

Yeah I'm talking about YOU! each and every one who has stayed with this journey and hollered back, written, and said "FUCK YEAH!

_**We want dark, twisted, and let the sex roll.**_

Well, baby STAND UP AND TAKE A BOW.

**Vetting is here because of YOU!**

XOXO

Now…let's do this.

_Alllllll aboard!_

** BADDEST BAD MAN ALIVE**

THURSDAY.

_I'd like to fuck you…but then I'd have to kill you._

INSIDE I'M dying to touch Christian. Tell him…what? That the last two days have set me on fire and have me near… the brink. _SHUT the hell UP!_ Let's not starting lying—just yet. We landed in D.C. and this isn't going to start out as another episode of _when in Rome_.

TRUTH? I'm well over the mother lovin' edge.

What he and I should be doing is simple math.

A one-nighter… times two.

That's that.

A see you around kind of deal. Not us landing at Reagan airport and trading fusion glances. Not me wearing a set of nipple clamps he went out and purchased in Boston, then slipped on my tits this morning in our hotel room. And certainly not me handing over my address. The one I've got on a sticky-note, crumpled inside my sweaty palm.

The luggage conveyer belt starts up again and we stand side-by-side, his arm brushes mine sending a mess of butterflies in flight. I 'accidentally' touch my shoulder against his until his suitcase comes into view. He leans over, grabs the handle, swinging the case off the belt.

I watch as a man with red hair and wearing a campaign button walks up to him and grins. "So how was it?"

"You're right on time, Taylor. The trip turned to be the best one yet. Productive. Informative. And I'm ready to get to work," he replies and laughs. They shake hands, then his smoky eyes flash to me, proving yet one more time the connection with Christian I feel is immediate.

Raw.

Binding.

His expression morphs into total ice. Shuttered, slicing, and sets the stage when he looks back at the young man, nodding. A clap to my senses. It's like another version of Grey is next to me. Unapproachable. I get it. He's a senator and I'm his intern. This is how the game is played beyond our bed.

"Ms. Steele," he says, motioning over to me. "Meet Jason Taylor. The man who'll help you get set up."

I step forward. "Hello, Jason."

"He goes by Taylor," Christian informs me.

"Pleasure and welcome to D.C. Hill intern?" Taylor's voice comes out in rolling Georgia vowels and his face is split by his smile.

"Yes. From Boston College." Christian says stiffly, picking up his computer case. "This guy is my number one congressional aide. We go way back."

"Impressive." I look between them.

Christian casts his glance my way, and for second I falter, staring into smoldering pools. The same ones that held me captive under this man.

"All the way from Athens…just outside Atlanta," Taylor snorts, jarring my focus. "Miss Steele, ever been down South?"

"Bull dog territory. Yes. I'm a fan of Atlanta, and please. Call me Ana."

"Ana," he repeats my name and extends his arm. "Nora told me all about you. No worries."

"Great." I take his hand, and we shake while I say something like it's nice to meet him, but I'm in a fog.

He lets go of my hand and proceeds to collect Christian's luggage. Both bags.

I step back, aware that once again I'm blocking the aisle. Christian's lips quirk. Another version of how we first met with me gawking and wavering on what to do. We discussed this. I know the plan and yet I've got this goddamn note in my hand. Why'd I wait so long to give it to him?

Shit, I can't just stand here and gape up at Christian. "I'll see you…both," I quickly amend, "Tomorrow." I force a smile to overtake my lips, like this is just one more introduction I'll make in life—no biggie. No one except me has a clue that my heartbeat hammers inside my chest, ready to burst from everything I want to say—need to hear.

"Fridays are casual," Taylor replies. "I don't know how much Nora has relayed."

"Lots and I'm looking forward to casual. Okay. Bright and early. I'd better get going," I splutter, taking hold of each handle of my suitcases. I've got my carry-on strap on my shoulder and swing around, feeling a _thud_ as I hit something. Looking back over my shoulder, I meet Christian's quizzical expression. Crap, I just hit him in the arm or chest.

"Where on earth are you rushing off to?" All it takes is his cocked eyebrow and I'm blushing. My face must be seventeen shades of scorched.

"I'll catch a cab. My roommate's in class." I stow my reaction, working to keep tacked in place my perfectly plastered expression of polite engagement. Christian's my boss. The man I'll learn from. A capable teacher. Wash. Rinse. Re-fucking-peat!

"We'll give _you_ a lift." He redirects me with his usual commandeering aplomb and I swallow, fighting the desire to do something that implies this is anything but a routine gesture on his part.

"Thanks. It's over in…" I release a suitcase handle, then peel open my hand, revealing the sticky-note. I'm so nervous I can't remember the address. I look at the note and choke out, "Logan Circle."

"Damn, girl. That's a great location. Here, let me help with your bags," Taylor exclaims, reaching forward. "I remember my first day in D.C. Seems like years ago."

"I've got 'em." I recapture my wayward suitcase handle, gripping both tighter.

He shakes his head at me to stop. "Taylor, get her bags and I'll deal with mine."

"But—" I stop speaking when Christian trains his nuclear gaze on me.

"Yes?" His pupils dilate. His lips slightly quirk.

Back in Boston, any contradiction on my part would come with a warning from Christian. Pinpricking perspiration breaks at my hairline. I'm not about to drop his gaze. Taylor is standing next to him and probably watching our exchange. Anything and everything must be seamless between us, and I scramble to check my expression.

Eyes neutral.

Mouth not hanging open.

Am I tilting my face up too much?

Christ, my cheeks burn as I feign feeling— even thinking proves dangerous. My muscles are in knots, and I've only been in Washington for less than an hour. Holy hell—this is one tenth of what it'll be like in Christian's office I imagine!

"We should have gotten a luggage dolly." I instill fake calmness into my voice, shifting my gaze to the ones near the wall as I remind myself to breath. I glance back to Christian's face. "There's more than a few available."

"We'll manage," he says, reaching for my carry-on strap from my shoulder and stiffen as his fingers sweep forward. Before he can touch me, I lift the strap and deposit it into his outstretched hand. His lips curl slightly higher—for a millisecond—and then the twist to his lips is gone.

We switch positions, figuring out who will take what, and it's worse than square dancing in a closet in how close he and I are standing and can't touch. Barely look at one another.

"Were do you live exactly?" Christian's voice comes out a low caress—or it's my imagination.

Either way the line of fire he ignites in this pretense we've got going on burns hotter and harder each time we exchange glances. Words. I don't want to say goodbye. Not yet.

"R Street, NW. I could just start today…on the Hill," I reply nonchalantly, showing him the note. He takes the piece of paper from my hand, swiping his fingers across my skin, gifting me with a current of electrical awareness that shoots up my arm.

"Wow. You are a livewire. First day in the city and you're ready to hit the ground running." Taylor laughs and shakes his head, wheeling around with two suitcases and a carry-on. "We're parked at the curb."

_If only Taylor realized how spot on he was in describing what I felt._

Christian's looks down at me—this time with his back to his staff assistant, and he endows me with a steely stare. "Tomorrow…will be soon enough. Get settled. Casual or not…we work like it's Monday morning every day."

"Don't let him scare you," Taylor retorts as we all proceed toward the exit. "We do happy hour and you're invited."

A black SUV waits at the curb. A pair of police officers snap their focus toward us, and one of them blows her whistle, waving to a car to move. The other smiles and saunters over. "Senator Grey. Let's get you out of here."

"Thank you. It's busy today."

She nods, looking over the rim of her sunglasses at him, and curving her lips into a seductive grin. "Summer travelers getting back before school starts up next week."

"Well, that explains it." Christian gives Taylor the cases he's holding. I've never seen so many people meet one man with so much pleasure. Ear-splitting smiles, laughter, and it's a wonder Christian's head isn't the size of Fenway Park.

The policewoman gives him a once over a blind person could absorb. "Have a good day, Sir."

_Sir?_ The word tears through my awareness. Christian doesn't react but I do, hearing that word. _Sir_. What I call him when I'm naked and learning the art of submission. A rather long row to hoe I'm finding out.

"Ms. Steele, this way." He opens the back door and pats the seat. "After you."

I brush past him and he steps closer. His body is shielding me as I'm sandwiched between him and the door. We're curbside, in cramped quarters he's constructed, and my senses alight fully flamed. He could touch me but he doesn't. His hands are on full display. One on the door and the other on the doorframe.

Effectively he's caging me, using his formidable body with only the backseat as my reprieve. I'm hungry to lean into him, feel his lips on my mouth—my skin—between my legs. I don't dare look up or I'll break strategy, risk doing what I asserted I wouldn't—to touch him in public and feed my need for him.

I sway and keep my hands down. I bite my lip, lifting my hip and swing my legs into the backseat, all too aware that's he watching my every move.

"Slide over," he murmurs.

I'm scooting along the seat and he's next to me. In that instant, he slams the door simultaneously as Taylor closes the tailgate. He takes possession of my leg, curling his fingers over my thigh, pulling me next to him. He pushes his hand under my dress, sliding upward as I instinctively close my legs.

"Chis—tian," I stammer.

"Open your legs. Now!"

"But…"

"If you don't want the whole airport to know what I'm doing, obey me."

Taylor walks by the door to my left without glancing inside and I flinch. "Please," I moan.

Without comment, Christian moves his hand higher between my legs and I gasp but do as he says, splaying my legs for him.

Stroking his thumb between my thighs, I shiver as he stares down at me. "I swear, I could fuck you. Right now. So hard," he says the words on a hiss between his teeth. "Problem is if I start, I doubt I'd stop for hours."

The windows are blacked out. The security screen is up between the front and back. Christian's aide pauses, trading gibes with the policewomen. In seconds he'll jump into the front seat. Grey and I have done this dance, seated in a backseat while a driver shuttles us around—but never have we broken the rules of engagement.

Christian's fingers climb higher and higher and I moan, pushing apart my knees, my muscles quivering as he touches the edge of my panties. Lifts the elastic.

-MORE TO COME. I PROMISE. IT'S HOOOTTTT!

Thank you for tuning in and for turning others on. xo


	20. PRETTY BALLSY LITTLE GIRL Vetting 1 P 2

MORE TEASING!

**_ADULT CONTENT._**

**PRETTY BALLSY LITTLE GIRL** (BADDEST BAD MAN ALIVE Part 2)

_We can do this_. Silently, I repeat my mantra as Christian's fingers climb higher and higher. First I have to have my say.

"But…"I finish what he obviously has left unsaid. "We're in your town and we've got to remember the rules. Which isn't what we're doing right now."

A muscle over his jaw tightens. "Guilty. Once again I could give a flying fuck about the rules."

"And scandal?" I hiss the word, my body on fire.

"Trust me. Anastasia… I want you like no other. Give yourself to me…however I demand. Lower you shirt. I want to see your tits." He rubs the skin along my inner thigh and then he touches me, squeezing the space between my legs, and manages to slip his finger under the lace of my panties. He grazes my folds—I'm slippery and swollen.

Oh Christ. I rub myself against his finger and the tiny bundle of nerves in my clit detonates into shimmering pleasure.

"Shirt," he growls and I remember, then do as he says, lowering my shirt and fully exposing my lacy bra. "You're wearing the clamps. God, I could fuck your tits, your ass, and your pussy if we were at the House right now. Free you tits. I want to suck on your nipples."

"This is crazy," I whisper, locking my gaze with his as he pinches my clit and has me grinding down on his hand. "I can't."

"You. Will." He casts his gaze over his shoulder as he thrusts his finger into my entrance, and I tremble. Roughly he plunges his finger as my muscles clench…I spread my legs wider, wanting him to plunge deeper.

"Yes." I swallow my groan, caught in a wave of lust while frightened that at any moment, Taylor will open the driver's door.

Christian looks back at me, leaning closer, thrusting faster. "Imagine me fucking you. Right now. Give yourself to me."

I rock my hips, hyper aware of Christian's finger as he finds and strokes just the right spot to make me roll my bottom lip between my teeth to keep from calling his name. Pleasure swirls, washes over me. I'm on the brink, ready to shatter, and then he withdraws his finger.

"Well?" he asks. "I want your tits and for the record, you've disobeyed me."

I believe this is it. He's called me my lack of faith—but no, it isn't. I need him. I have to have him, and I push down the cups on my bra, shielding my breasts within the cage of my fingers, and demonstrating that I trust him. The chain of clamps he gave me hangs between my nipples.

"Quid pro quo?" I flash my focus over at Taylor whose seems to be flirting with the cops, the quickly lean toward Christian. I open my legs wider liked a crazed sex addict. "You want something…well, so do I."

He chuckles decadently. "Pretty ballsy little girl. Show me and yeah. I'll give you what you want."

I lower my hands, freeing my breasts, and he reinserts not one of his expert fingers but two into me. Christian pumps his arm, harder, faster, biting his lip and staring into my face. "Come for me, Anastasia. Come all over my fucking finger, baby."

With my legs splayed open, I'm flexing my hips, and unraveling. He pounds the heel of his large palm against my pussy, making me take his two long fingers. All the way. Harder—the force of his arm pumping between my legs gets stronger and I'm there. He sucks one of my erect nipples, pulling on the clamp, and I shatter.

"Christian," I whisper his name as blinding pleasure explodes between my legs.

"Perfect," he replies, thrusting his fingers into me over and over. Beads of sweat erupt along his brow and he's unrelenting, finger fucking me in broad daylight.

Pleasure rivets through my belly, torching my senses, and I'm gone…carried over the crest of lust so sharp and captivating that I do as he says and splinter apart. My sex is quivering, clinching around his fingers as I claw the padded seat under my palms. I don't dare look away from him. He's informed me, breaking eye contact is tantamount to insubordination, and will earn me a spanking of which he keeps track of each and every one of my transgressions.

His quicksilver eyes are scorching flames—his pupils dilated into pools of black, and he withdraws his fingers, sucking my juices from his manicured tips. He removes handkerchief, and wipes his hand.

"Care for a bottle of water," he asks as though we're discussing campaign ideas, not spinning, post-climax. His erection strains his fly, and I could easily imagine undoing his zipper and climbing onto his lap. He's right. If we start to fuck, we might never stop.

"No. I'm good."

His lips twist. "Better than good. You've got the sweetest pussy and nipples. I can't wait to fully sample…all of you come this Saturday." He removes bottle of water from the built-in cooler below the console and cracks the cap off it. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he takes a sip and holds it out to me. "You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm…sure." Stunned is a better description but he of all people doesn't need more fuel for his enormous ego.

Settling back on the seat, he lifts a folder from his case, and slips on his sunglasses. "Be glad I didn't lay you down on the backseat and properly fuck you. But I still can, if you don't watch that mouth of yours."

Taylor opens the door and takes the wheel. From the intercom, he asks "Where's your place, Ana?"

_Christian has the slip of—_

"1210 R Street, NW." He rattles off the address from memory without looking in my direction. "What's our ETA?"

"Mmm, hold on while I key in the address," Taylor says, and then replies. "Thirty-two minutes until we get to the Hill."

I shake my head. "We're only five miles from your office. I can be dropped off second."

Christian exhales what sounds like a growl of displeasure. Our gazes lock, and he turns off the intercom, shifting closer to me. "When will you learn? That's twice in less than ten minutes. Looks like you need convincing, Ms. Steele that I'm in charge." He touches my cheek, skimming his knuckle down to my jaw, and over the frame of his glasses, he watches me for a beat, his eyes shifting down to my mouth. Smirking, he presses the intercom button. "I can tough it out. Taylor. Hit it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ much more to come and this is just the start to Steele & Grey in D.C.

xo

Laters!


	21. CALL ME CRAZY Vetting 1 P3

**CALL ME CRAZY.**

**Christian Grey**

**Vetting 1.3**

This is the third part of the Chapter One from Vetting. When I say tease…it's true.

The editing required is intense to get these up as well as do all nonsense life has to offer. You know what I'm talking about!

Anyway…I felt bad, leaving you hanging.

So THIS SCENE SETS THE STAGE for one thread of the story: the Clubhouse or 'House' as the BDSM sex club is called.

What's here?

Angst. Yep.

Crazyville. Hell Yeah.

Taking Christian over the edge… we're headed in that direction.

_**Enjoy.**_

I DROPPED Ana off this morning and I can't shake the feeling of coming undone. It's been nine hours since I sampled her pussy. _My pussy_ as of this coming Saturday when I obtain the rights to bind her to me as my submissive. I close my eyes, reliving the mind obliterating feel of her silky softness clenching around my fingers, and the scent of her climax filling my head. Her mouth on my cock, sucking me off as we drove through D.C. traffic—fucking fantastic way to begin a soul-selling-day on the Hill.

I was hard then and I'm harder now, seated in my car. I'm outside her goddamn apartment doing what the fuck I can't even describe. Stalking might be a way to define my actions. Insane another perfectly good term.

It's Thursday night, and instead of hooking of with my business partners at the _Clubhouse_, I'm parked curbside in Logan's Circle without a plan and have a case of blue balls like I hadn't come in days. And don't even ask about my dick. That fucker is forged steel. I want Ana riding me until I come inside her, groaning her name, and sampling her luscious mouth. She's upstairs in her new digs…in what I imagine is _that window_. Apartment 5A.

I've googled the building info and determined the floor layout. Five stories up and the one I've stared at nonstop for the last twenty minutes. If I had any sense, I would have brought a pair binoculars to get a better view.

Leaning my head back, I bite into a stick of gum, chewing the piece as I watch the shadows move within her place, casting dark splotches on the walls. So far, Ana hasn't come close enough to the windows or balcony door to give me what I want. A visual of her.

I can't go upstairs to her place. She's not alone. Lives with some girl.

Her roommate Kate Kavanagh is some trust fund princess attending Georgetown. Archer, my contact in delivering the down and dirty on anyone I request intel on has provided me with a fact sheet on _Katherine Agnes Kavanagh_ including her family. If Steele is from old money, then Kavanagh is nouveau riche with a sparkling gaudy diamond crown. Middle America making good on the American dream for the last generation. Kate gets around. Not the best grades at George Washington—fourth year in law school—she took a year off for rehab, and another for touring the South of Europe. Ms. Kavanagh has a thing for drinking, recreational drugs, and older men. Archer's unofficial note to me—she's got a 'daddy' fixation.

Her father is Richard Kavanagh, the man behind _Datadriven_. A Stanford dropout and the genius who revolutionized computer operating system and software. No small thing. Chairman Rick as he's known, retired two years ago, and now travels around the globe as a philanthropic nomad after the girl's mom passed away. Total head case in how he left his only daughter a huge chunk of change while at the moment, according to my info, he's hunkered down in Lhasa at Norbulingka, the summer residence of the Dalia Lama on a mission to find himself.

I guess I should be grateful. This place isn't that far from my condo in Georgetown, and if I wanted to, I could include it in my morning run which might just become my evening jog—and fuck!

Payday.

There's my _little intern_.

Better than a twenty-yard glimpse of heaven that I've been sweating. I shift in my seat and pull the bill of my cap, chomping on a piece of gum to keep from cracking my back molars.

Steele and a dark-haired girl—resembles the photograph from Archer's report—exit the building. What the fuck is Anastasia wearing? A short dress…way too much show of her legs and Jesus Fucking Christ. I get a load of her shoes and grip my door handle, pressing the cool metal lever under my fingers. I've got seconds—maybe less—to demonstrate how far over the edge I've gone.

_What the fuck can I say… I was in the neighborhood?_

There's no car waiting at the curb. So where in the hell are they off to? Unless they're going by cab. But they don't hang around. Shit! I open my door a sliver, and I watch them walk down the block. There's a massive amount of shops, restaurants, and bars around this place.

My phone goes off, and I curse the direction my car is facing. Snapping my door shut, I can't keep track of Steele after a couple of seconds of staring. When her dark-haired head fades from view, my stomach twists.

My phone vibrates again "Yeah?" I growl.

"Well fuck you too, boy!" Carter cracks back.

"Jax, I'm running late."

"You're not in your office. I called." Jackson Carter is the House Speaker and rides my ass for no good reason—except we're as close brothers.

"No fucker. I'm not. What…are you worried I might not make Ethan's performance? It better not be anything like the last time. Just tell me no candles are involved."

"Naw. He's done with wax."

"So…why are calling?"

"Got a better question. Are you _coming_? Here. Tonight? You know the drill."

"I get your drift." I hear his message plain as day. He wants to know if I'll be up for tag teaming—a huge draw for the members to see two Doms go at sub—and I don't detour in what I'll tell—same thing I've relayed on the subject of ménage involving men. "I'll be there, but no. Whatever Ethan has on the books, he's gonna have to bark up another tree."

"Can't blame me for asking. It's been a while. Since you're returning to the fold—you might want some action. If it matters, we've some special members on board this evening."

"Not that long and no member is that special in my book. So who is it?" He exhales and I turn my attention back to the street, memorizing the immediate vicinity surrounding Ana's apartment building.

"Top brass."

"Ah shit." I turn in my seat—this means some heavy shit is going down tonight. "Didn't think we'd see him back. How are we set for security?"

"You know he brings his own… So, you still hooked up with your little unofficial level of _excess_…for the weekend?"

Well, fuucckk! "Any special reason you're asking?" I roll my eyes slowly, feeling the burn that the 'top brass' is active. If he's around—what I'm planning could get dicey. No staff. It's a rule, and I'm going to break it. Jax doesn't even know.

This Saturday…he's going to pick Ana up, prepare her for me by removing her clothing, binding her wrists, and lead her to a stage where she'll stand naked awaiting me…after an auction in which I'll bid against members present to claim her. Own her.

"Just verifying the schedule is all."

"I want Anastasia's mask in place at all times."

"All times?"

"Yeah. I'll take care of her photo ID, and her file." There aren't enough words to describe how twisted I feel inside. I don't share well, and with my out of control hunger for Ana, I'm not doing well. The idea of sharing the tiniest most insignificant morsel about her at the Clubhouse has lit a fire under my ass, and I can't shake the feeling of being strangled by my own greed.

"Capella Hotel. She'll be in the lobby. Waiting. Take care of her, Jax."

"Christian, I get how what you're not saying. I got your message which is reason enough for me to wonder about what's going on."

"Just watch over her…and don't let anyone touch her. You know me. If I have to deal with anyone...even the Secret Fucking Service, I'll go ballistic."

"Shit, Grey. Sounds like you're way over the line. Not since Harvard...on no fingers can I count you ever, EVER willing to risk—"

"Carter. You're not my keeper."

I'm pulling out the stops in setting Anastasia up in one of our private rooms in one of the most exclusive hotels in D.C. A room we keep for elite non-members, and a few of use the room when we have needs near the Capitol. We don't talk about the hotel. We don't visit the hotel. We own the room, it's there and we send out a message in a secretive email code that's it's booked.

We hang up and I start the engine and put my car into gear. Checking out the rear view mirror, I scour the street, looking for my submissive bombshell. What I'd give to be with her tonight instead of on my way to Maryland and alone to the 'House'…the exclusive club where I'm coming back as Dom for a night. My next night will be with Ms. Steele as command her, discipline her, spreading her for my pleasure, in front of the entire club.

I clench my jaw…envisioning her ass cheeks pink, her pussy wet, and her mouth calling me 'Sir' as I fuck her for hours as others watch us. Inconceivable but it's the only way I can have my Ana-flavored cake and eat her too…while in D.C. I fucking hate these cocksucking rules!

If I wasn't an owner I'd consider…doing something supremely insane—like what? _Bring her home._

Why not take out an ad in the _Post_ and solicit ideas for a scandal. I can sink my whole career and be free.

Fuck! Two days, and this girl has me whipped.

I focus on what I need to get done tonight—ignoring my frustration. File updates are due and Archer sent me everything, if I get my ass in gear. I manage a section of the 'behind the scenes' by overseeing the job of keeping tabs on everyone who enters the _House_. One slip and we cut a member off. There are no questions if a membership is rescinded—our membership agreements are ironclad.

Everyone knows the score.

I'm a cocksucker and trade secrets for maintaining our privacy. I know shit on everyone. I'm also more than aware that all it takes is someone saying the wrong thing to the wrong person and we all could end up as headline news. With a private club that serves as an elite playground for those from Hill, I don't dick around. Neither does Jax or any of the other owners. Which is why, when I hang up, I toss my cell phone onto the seat next to me and reach across, open the glove compartment, and extract the new phone I've obtained. Untraceable. Archer assures me. It has one number programmed. Ana Steele.

Swiping my finger across the screen, as I toy with the idea of calling her. Checking up on her…hell yeah. I'm so close. _Just press the fucking screen! _Ask her what's she doing and if she's thinking of me—I'm so close but I don't. Cursing, I set the phone back in the glove compartment, flooring the gas pedal.

I'll get my shit done and then when I'm back at my condo, I'll call Anastasia. Stroke my cock and explode in my hand as she tells me in her seductive voice what the hell she's done all day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Chapter Two will be up soon.

Hope you enjoy getting to know my version of Kate. Will there be a spin off?...could be. She's a big part of this installment and the next.


	22. THE DANCE BEGINS Vetting 2 P1

THE DANCE BEGINS

Vetting 2.1

Ana Steele

LAST NIGHT was stellar—cohesive and what I needed. Christian was right. Getting settled in at the condo with Kate, and then meeting José at a neighborhood restaurant was just what the doctor ordered. By the end of the evening, we'd moved our platonic ménage a trois to a nearby bar, and were doing shots of Jack with the owners, and a few dozen of the regulars while watching the Red Sox kick some ass as José and I chanted, or really screamed "Kung Fu Panda!" each time Sandoval came up to bat.

By the end of the evening, I was hoarse but relaxed, believing that this move to D.C. was the best decision ever. José left in a cab right before Kate and I came upstairs. Then later, alone and tucked in bed, missing Christian and wondering what he's doing, the chirping of my cell interfaced my longing for skin-on-skin. I reached for my cell on the nightstand. Answered. After midnight and no one was on the other end. A little creepy until my alcohol soaked brain focused as I lay in the dark. I could have sworn…it was insane.

"Chri—" spilled out of my mouth, but I went mute after a blaring siren went off in my head to shut up! Probably a wrong number, except there wasn't a number displayed. So strange…or just my overactive imagination.

Now it's the morning and I'm crossing the atrium inside the Russell Building where Christian's office is located. I stow all memories. Wipe the slate of my mind clean.

"Miss…your ID?" the security guard asks.

"I'm new." I open my purse, and remove my driver license.

"Step over here. Are you a visitor?" He takes my license and starts writing on a log sheet.

"Intern. Senator Grey." I feel the premonition of a shiver build, and I bite the side of my cheek—hard—to forestall this ridiculous reaction to the mere mention of Christian's title. Fuck. I'd better not end up like Kate. Introduce that girl to a handsome businessman, between the ages of 38 and 52, and if he's top of his capitalistic game in some Fortune 500 company, Kate's a goner. Eyes glazed, lips parted, and ready to disappear.

I wait, looking around as the guard hands me a visitor's badge. There's three guards on duty. One at the metal detector and another assisting the line of people who open their cases, purses, bags, and deposit wallets, cells, keys into baskets. And the one whose dealing with me. He directs me over to the line of people. The line moves fast as I force myself to breathe, each step closer I come to crossing the line my lungs require more prodding, and then I'm through the metal detector without a hitch.

On the other side, I scoop up my bag and keys, then skitter across the polished marble floors, following along in the crowd as we head toward the elevators. The center of the lobby is a gorgeous rotunda—majestic, and I wish I had more time to simply enjoy how awe inspiring it is to be in the midst of history being made. I whir by the milk-white marble statute carved by the famous sculptor Frederick Hart—another Georgia born man with a penchant for the sensuous and I imagine Mr. Hart possesses lots and lots of talents as does Christian.

People are talking in low voices, a droning buzz as I continually remind myself: think routine, sane thoughts. _Nothing crazy and no one will know Senator Grey is the man who had his head between your legs less than twenty-four hours ago in a Boston hotel, right before I boarded the plane._

Entering the elevator, there's no need to say the 'fourth floor'; the control panel buttons are all lit up. I step toward the side, and then farther back as more and more people crowd inside until we're jammed together and no one else fits. The doors close and my stomach pitches. The elevator ascends smoothly—it's not a herky-jerky ride but tell that to the butterflies flying out of control in my stomach. At each floor, the swarm on the other side of my ribcage flies faster and faster. When the elevator doors open on my floor, I almost stumble out on the heels of the six people ahead of me.

I glance at the signs on the wall, veer to the right, down the hall toward Christian's office, Room 416. Dammit! Where the number plates should be are blank spaces. Looks like they're all being replaced. I count and the doorway I imagine is his office suite, I pause taking hold of the knob, annoyed that my face feels sunburned. I'm all out of sorts—completely opposite to how relaxed I was last night.

Before pushing in, I stop and close my eyes, praying that my cheeks don't get any redder. There are voices on the other side that rise and fall. Not exactly arguing, but border on…strained. The doorknob yanks out of my hand, and I stare, open mouthed at a woman with deep burgundy hair and porcelain skin so white, I don't think I've ever encountered skin as flawless, and quickly my focus switches to her perturbed posture as she stands frozen in front of me.

"Is this Senator Grey's office?" I ask.

"It is," she replies shrilly, arching her brow. She huffs out a hasty, "Pardon me."

God, I hope she's not Nora, and then I spot her ID badge with the blaring "Senator Lincoln" and "Washington," her state designation. Senator Lincoln's arched brow and clipped tone reminds me of Mrs. Robinson from the graduate minus the leopard print clothing. I step aside as she glides past me, her heels clattering on the marble floor. I enter into a reception area. Dark blue carpeting and warm, deep brown mahogany paneled walls gleam.

"Senator Lincoln… Oh sorry. You're not Elena…" A woman wearing one of Christian's campaign buttons comes forward. "May I help you…You're Ms. Steele! Aren't you?"

"I am," I reply, swallowing, but not a drop of saliva is in my mouth. The woman in front of me mentioned Senator _Elena_ Lincoln. The senator's name clicks. She's the one who was investigated in the death of a prominent businessman. A supporter of hers—José said they were lovers.

"I was about to bolt to the ladies' room, but not now. I'm Nora. Nice to meet you and come on in."

"Finally," I say in response. "It's always good to put a name with a face."

"I agree. Lucky for me, I caught the photo montage from the cocktail party. I could pick you out of a lineup. Easily."

"Really. It was packed."

She smiles, tilting her head. "You were mentioned by name."

My face tightens. Yes. I do remember but say nothing. Instead, I watch as Nora backtracks inside. The reception area is another version of beautiful architecture found throughout this building. This suite is part of the original 1909 building and there's crystal chandelier over the long table that's visible in a side conference area. I'd read that Christian was provided with one of the larger office suites due to his involvement chairing several committees. Nora sits down behind a large wooden desk and taps on the space bar of her computer. As Christian's senate assistant and scheduler, she has not one, but three monitors. She types rapidly and the printer spits out a stack of paper.

She lifts the pages and rapidly staples them, then grabs a lanyard. "Your schedule and your identification. You'll have to go and get your official pass after you visit personnel. But this will get you in and out of the building without having to stop and prove who you are each time you come through."

She's maybe five-five in heels, and has a powerhouse body that's built for speed as she hurls back up out of her chair and winks at me. "I knew you'd be coming to D.C."

"Was there a question?" I slip on the lanyard.

"Don't mind me." She shrugs, walking toward the inner corridor. "I say what I think before my brain has time to verify what comes out is socially acceptable."

"Better than being hypocrite," I reply.

"Some days, I don't know. After all…look where we are," she snorts. "Let's get you settled."

"Am I in the office with the other staffers?"

Her eyes sparkle and the corners crinkle. "A little different. Special instructions from our boss. This way."

From what I know there are staff offices nearby and I don't understand where we're headed as I follow her further inside the suite. "You don't have to give me tour. I mean you were headed out."

"I'm not giving you a tour. I'm showing you to your office."

"_Office_?"

"Myra, our commuications director is on leave. Maternity and you'll take her spot. If you decide to stick around after August, we'll find another locale. Is this all right?" She opens a door into an office.

"Sure. I'm not particular."

She side-glances me and smiles like she doesn't swallow that one—maybe she's right. From the doorway, I spy the next door…it's larger than the others and dark wood. My heartbeat which had slowed into a normal clip crashes within my chest.

I don't need a neon sign or directions to know whose behind that threshold. It's like I'm suddenly here…and he's there. _And this is real!_

My hands grow cold and I refocus on Nora…she's talking about whose around at the end of the summer. Monday, there's a meeting in the Caucus Room downstairs… "So you'll attend with Christian and it'll be great to get you involved. Right from the start. Don't you agree? Shoot, after you pitched in and what you did in Boston—I guess this really isn't starting from ground zero. Anyway, you'll have our boss eating out of your hand in no time. He's got a bite, but you can handle him. Or so I heard."

I blink…entering the office. She's got to be talking about something far different than the flaring images bursting within my head. "I'm happy to do whatever is needed."

"That's a bald face lie," I hear a deep voice behind us. "I'm all bite."

Nora exhales a cough, "Jesus! Christian. How long have you been standing there?"

His lips quirk and he smiles slightly, our gazes collide. Connect. "Not long enough…to hear anything other than I'm unbelievably a hardass. Welcome, to the Hill," he says, staring into my eyes. "Nora, for the record, Ms. Steele already has me eating…out of her hand."

What should I do? I can't just stand there and gawk. Nora's turning on the computer and booting it up. "Thank you. You're too kind."

"So…what do you think of the Hill?"

"This building is amazing."

His gaze lowers down the front of my dress and then he lifts his eyes, our gazes reengage and I feel the connection twine like racing jolts of electricity coursing within me. "It's not the only thing…that's awe inspiring."

"Boss, you've got a meeting with the Veep. The file you forgot… is on your desk."

"I'm not going to be late, Nora. Calm down." Christian inhales and raises a brow. "Come find me, Ms. Steele if you have any questions. I'm right through there." For a beat, we're frozen and then Nora says something about a staff meeting.

Dressed in a dark blue suit and a red tie that pops, his eyes shimmer in the subdued lighting within his office. I tell myself, turn around and calm down, but for a beat I enjoy watching him. Dark hair combed back and his broad shoulders stretching the fine material of his jacket. When I do turn, Nora is waiting for me and she says, "He's something…isn't he?"

"Hope I can keep up," I choke out, praying to cover my tracks.

"Just enter your login information and reset the password," she announces. "And take a deep breathe. You're going to do just fine. I can tell."

_CHRISTIAN GREY_

FINDING ANA inside my office is enough to heighten my need for her—full tilt.

I want her…want to buried to the hilt inside her. And after hearing her voice last night, almost say my name—didn't put the brakes on my hunger but had me on the verge of confirming she was right. I was calling her—checking up on her. Hearing her voice in my cell, soft and hoarse, I'd bitten my tongue as I craved asking her to come down as I sat in my car. Outside her apartment building. Hard and ready to have her ride me.

Turning away from her isn't the message coursing through my veins. If Nora wasn't here, I'd push Anastasia back into that office…and fuck the rules. I want to taste her mouth.

She's a door down from my office and I don't want to leave her. But Nora is staring at me like I've lost my mind. "Christian. You're cutting it close."

"Veep is still at home. Probably in her bath robe." I purposefully 'forgot' the file on my desk and am retrieving it, thankful that Ana is militant in being on time. "I'm fine."

"Christ, you're flying the skin on your teeth," Nora scoffs. "Do you want to me to phone her assistant, and buy you a couple of minutes?" Nora's focus flares to the computer monitor.

"Negative. I'll be back soon," I say and allow myself a quick glance down Ana's legs.

"Not if you don't get going," Nora says, then speaks to Anastasia. "Key in your social."

"I'm getting an error message," Anastasia replies and crosses her legs. Her hem rises and I glimpse a tease of lace. Her garter, and I'm staring, hoping her skirt will rise higher.

I grind my teeth as I walk toward my office. It's been too long since her thighs were splayed for me, and I'm counting down the minutes until I'm licking her pussy, sucking on her clit, and making her scream my name. I imagine her pretty ankles bound wide apart and make a mental note to purchase a coil of silk rope that won't abrade her delicate skin. No metal cuffs for Ana. I'll take measures to ensure she continues to wear a dress or skirt to the office, in lieu of trying  
>to hide rope burns. Tonight, I fully intend on discussing my idea of her coming to work minus her panties and us having private 'meeting' in my office. Say lunchtime each and every day.<p>

I pass by the open doorway. Nora is standing over Anastasia as they do something on the computer. "Ladies," I say and stare at Anastasia's profile until Nora raises her gaze. Then I nod and head out into the reception area. On Nora's desk, I see a note written in familiar handwriting. _Elena Lincoln_. Senator Lincoln—my last sub—the woman who two-timed me and almost entrenched me a scandal she'd sidestepped.

Fuck. I set my file down, and pick up the note in which she's requesting an appointment. I get my phone out, preparing to text Nora an absolute no-go message, but shit. Elena is a passive aggressive to a fault. Better to face her head-on. _What in the hell does she want?_

"The door is that way!" Nora snaps her fingers.

"I'm leaving. Senator gets no more than five minutes."

"Christian. I'm on it."

My car is downstairs and it's a fifteen minute ride to the Veep's home where I'm supposed to act like I don't remember seeing her Deputy Chief of Staff last night. Naked and getting fucked every which was from Sunday by Ethan as the woman was bound, gagged, and sodomized during a tag team ménage. Something Ethan's good at delivering. Apparently with the top brass on deck, this special request was acted upon.

I scan the others within the meeting room and stop. Besides Virginia Ryan, the Vice President, there's a small gathering of people, and they all cease talking, gazing in my direction.

"Senator Grey," Virginia announces. "Welcome."

"Morning," I reply.

"Would you care for coffee? Breakfast?"

"Coffee. Black," I say, unbuttoning my jacket as I take the seat she indicates at the table.

She makes introductions and I withhold any comment as I listen to the team of people present, say their name and then strangely, identify their qualifications. Another executive coaching PR team, and I wonder what in the hell they're doing here. This is a preemptive meeting in which Virginia and I are supposed to discuss if me as her running mate is something serious and where to go from here. I'm handed a notebook.

"Senator Grey?" A familiar feminine voice pricks my awareness and I glance upward into pools of crystal blue. Ana is lead into the room by Virginia's assistant. She's next to me and I stand, reminding myself not to touch her.

"Ms. Steele?" I say and can't help smiling down at her.

"Your folder, Sir."

_Sir. _Christ Almighty. My dick twitches at the sound of Anastasia's voice, and I tell myself to abort doing anything but 'thanking' her…except I glance down at her mouth as she runs the tip of her tongue—her pierced tongue—along the underside of her upper lip.

"Thanks," I growl, ready to pull her from the meeting room and into the back of my car outside. How'd she get her…then I remember the subway connecting the Capitol buildings. I don't catch it, but plenty of staff do in running errands between Hill offices.

"My pleasure." She nods, then turns on her heel, and retreats from the room.

All too soon, she's gone and I'm standing for a beat, staring after her.

"New intern," the Veep comments. "And a Steele?"

"Anastasia Stillman Steele from Boston." From my lips, the texture and weight of her name is like silk and steel outside my body. Soft and sharp in saying her name aloud. I sink down into my chair.

"She's Patrick's stepdaughter?" she affirms what I know. Her words come out measured as she studies me across the table.

My muscles go rigid as I return her stare. Tersely, I state, "Yes."

"Interesting."

"Well you know how it is? Interns needing a placement."

"I won't lie, Senator. I heard she was part of your staff."

"You _heard?_" I ask, buying time to consider what in the fuck to say next.

She smiles. Cheshire-like and the oxygen burns from my body. "News travels fast. Her family. You understand."

"Matter of fact… I don't. They're not my concern." There's an element of bullshit in what I just said. Anastasia is bothered by her family. She's _my concern_. A message harangues me…Ana isn't the Veep's concern and shouldn't be on Virginia Ryan's radar.

"Really?" Her eyes widen incredulously.

"Madam Vice President, I came here to discuss your offer. Not my staff or their family affiliations."

"The two might intersect." She steeples her fingers in that way I can't stand.

_Fuck! Be cool!_ I'm downplaying what's she said so far, so much, I glance at my watch, then back at her to indicate my annoyance.

"So far, they don't. The Stillmans and Steeles aren't our supporters. I'd prefer to deal with more pressing issues. Both of our calendars are packed. I've got several appointments this morning as I'm sure you do as well." I push the folder, containing a compilation of my latest power hitting supporters who didn't vote for the POTUS that she requested, toward her. Anastasia's family is not part of my fan base. "We should begin."

"We can't be sticklers for black and white party affiliations. You of all people are making headway in garnering swing voters. New supporters. I had a brainstorm and want you input. Take your time." She puts on her a pair of glasses and her assistant places a cup of coffee in front of me.

"Thanks," I murmur, and open the notebook.

Fuck. It's my history, starting from Harvard. I don't need to re-read the arrest report. This piece of shit was filed when I was involved in a drunken brawl at a frat house. Not one I belonged to, but I tore up the place during a party. A couple of us were hauled away in cuffs. Didn't matter if we were stopping a girl from getting mauled by drunken members. The guys involved called their parents and that's all it took. The girl was paid off. The school was given an endowment. And three students were arrested. Charged. Booked.

Me being one.

My record was eventually expunged and sealed, but it took years and my own efforts.

"If this is your way of intimating that you've found another running mate, Madam Vice President you could have called," I say, meeting Virginia's pleasant smile.

"On the contrary, Senator. I'm very…very interested you as my running mate. We're here to head off any mudslinging. Figure out your axis of power and what quadrants need our attention."

"Quadrants?"

"Please. Give me a moment. Dr. Mazina will fill you in." The Veep stands, gesturing to one of her staffers. I half focus on the woman who identified herself as Dr. Mazina along with the Veep, whose whispering instructions to her staffer.

"I'm on it. Won't take but a few minutes." The man's eyes dart to me, then he nods, leaving the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~More to come from Vetting Chapter Two

Remember these are teasers so partial chapters are posted as they are run through editing. THANKS FOR UNDERSTANDING!

Stay tuned. We're doing more than sex...you'll get to see how Ana evolves into a woman befitting a powerful man. And as she evolves, so will the gorgeous Senator Grey.

XO


	23. WHEN THE GOING GETS ROUGH Vetting 2P2

_ADULTISH::::_

Nothing you can't handle if you're down for "M" content.

For those who wanted more Ana, more career, more let's see the heroine do something. This is for you.

For those who want an HEA, well we've got to lay the foundation. This is for you.

For those who can't wait to get to the CLUBHOUSE, we're going, but before you can possibly accept what happens there,

YOU'VE GOT TO UNDERSTAND WHO THESE TWO ARE TO EACH OTHER

This isn't just kink-and trust me what you'll read it's a KINKed out RIDE ALL THE WAY. This is for you!

So, before we can take these lovers to the land of let's get lost, let's escape all the fucked up lemons life throws...WE'VE GOT TO GROUND THEM.

enjoy!

WHEN THE GOING GETS ROUGH

CHRISTIAN GREY

"IF I MAY, Senator Grey?" Dr. Mazina, a Princeton professor, demurely grins, yet her eyes remain hawkish. She clicks on a screen and a presentation begins. My name and a graph. My brow tightens. An hour later, I feel like a pincushion as each person present discusses me like I'm a parody of myself.

"So you see," Virginia returns to her seat, grinning again. "We've got a handle on you. We're prepared to make the announcement…"

"Except you want me to…what?" I frown, and make no attempt to disengage from glaring. This is precisely the side of politics I fucking hate. _Blood-suckery!_

"Since we can't expect you to get married in the next week, we need to establish you as a family presence. Someone everyone can trust."

"You act like I've recently robbed a bank." I lean back in my chair, gripping the armrest, and fully prepared to tell Virginia to can this idea.

"In some ways, it's actually worse."

I clench my jaw, looking from her to the others seated at the table. What in the fuck is the Veep up to? "I don't follow."

"We need you to be more than Cosmo's sexiest senator. Christian, you need to be mainstream, and that means grounded." She raises her hand. "Give us a moment, people."

Everyone in the room files out. "What are you suggesting?"

"When's the last time you had a date? A real date."

I clench my jaw tighter. I can't recall the last time I dated a woman. Years ago and it was a lie. The women were my attempt at trying to be a round peg. I swore, never again. The Veep would already know the truth but she's not nosing around for data. She's looking for a story. "Years."

Virginia rises from her chair and removes her glasses. She taps the side of her jaw with her frames and her smile goes wide. "Sometimes we need to spin media tales to redirect the focus…but I think I've got a plan that's viable. When I'm elected, I could give two fucks who you date. You're not gay and what you do behind closed doors is your business. No one can accuse you of having a mistress and shit, if you did. So the hell what!"

I focus on my options. The vice president's got my arrest record and from my experience on the Hill with the Veep, she's off the wall but has no problem playing hardball. I calculate how far reaching the arrest report is—if it surfaces. It'll cause a rash of shit, but nothing I can't weather. Fuck, it's a calculated risk to walk now. Yet it's not the arrest report that's got me sitting here, instead of telling the Veep to kiss off. Virginia Ryan has the tenacity of pitt bull. I can leave, but she'll dig. And dig. With Anastasia in D.C. and my plans for us. Only for her am, I sitting here, plotting my next move. "So what's the plan?"

A knock on the door stops her from answering.

"Madam, Vice President. The preliminary report you requested." Virginia's assistant walks in with a manila folder. "You were right."

"Confirmed?" She laughs, then looks over to me. "If we go fake, then let's go big. Huge."

"Huge as in?"

She turns toward me and winks. "Miss Steele. Surely, you can kill two birds kind of thing. She's your intern. Barely. Why not date her?"

"Excuse me?" I ask, stiffening in my chair.

"She's perfect. And if you agree, all you need to do is put a face on your single side. Not forever. One year and in return, we'll owe Steele."

"Absolutely not."

"Do you have an aversion to her?"

I grit my teeth and rasp. "Of course not."

The vice president leans forward. "Senator…why not let Miss Steele decide?"

Fuck! I've learned that Ana wants to be free of her family…specifically Grace and Stan Stillman who believe everyone has a price tag and can be bought. Christ, to have the Vice President beholden to Anastasia…if I open this door to my soon-to-be submissive, I'm drawing her into a web that could blow up in our face…the face of the Veep…the trust of the American people.

Unless I don't act on my hunger to claim her. Then she'd be perfect. My little innocent intern and she'd have her future set. Yeah. This is her decision. "I'll ask her but you should know, she's cut her ties with her family and is sensitive to the issue."

"You took her on…knowing that?"

"Yeah," I say cautiously. "Look, Nora deals with the interns and Ms. Steele just appeared. She's got that new energy façade."

Virginia regards me with a raised brow. "Trust me, Senator…she's got more than a façade going for her."

…IT'S TIME TO GET TOUGH

ANASTASIA STEELE

I HURRY back toward the office with an armful of handouts for Christian's Monday roundtable meeting with the South American dignitaries, wondering if Nora is still around.

I weave around several people in hall. Some say my name. Wave. They're on their way out. I turn and elbow someone. _Shit!_

"Whoa. Slow down." I look up and peer over my glasses at Taylor. He grimaces, holding his side.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

He laughs, lowering his hand—clearly he's fine and kidding. "How was your first day?"

"Busy. But I'm getting the hang of things. Or at least the copier." I glance at the stack in my arms.

"Need help?"

"Just the door." He walks with me, opening Christian's office door. "I'm hearing good things. Meet you bright and early on Monday."

"You're on!" I say and smile.

"See you later. Happy hour!" He lifts his fist and precariously, I shift the documents in my arms, and return a bump. It took me twenty minutes to figure out the copier when it jammed, and then it was smooth sailing. It's after five and today has been a whirlwind that didn't stop. After gaining access to the computer system, I attended a staff briefing that dissects Christian's day as well as his congressional priorities. Each day begins with a meeting and next Wednesday, it's my turn to bring in breakfast. From there, I used the subway that connects this building to the other congressional hotspots and shot over to the Senate ID office in Dirksen; stood in line for an hour, and have my official yet limited intern access badge.

Nora looks up from her desk when I enter the reception area. "Let's talk schedule. Got a sec?"

"Sure," I huff.

Her fingers fly over her keyboard, and she clicks on Christian's calendar. It's jam-packed. Zooming a box, she turns to me. "Monday, you'll head downstairs into the amphitheater adjacent to the Caucus room and help set up. There will be press coverage galore. The media camps out in designated seating. If any of them attempt to sneak closer, redirect them. They're infamous for creeping toward the front. Taylor and his team will be there to deal with them since Myra's out on leave, but if you see any of them push their luck, get tough."

"That I can do." I pause in front of her. "I worked the other side and I'll be on the lookout."

"Christian takes the podium with opening remarks and it's freefall from there. This isn't like the campaign trail. Some of the attendees…a minority…are savvy sharks, so keep your eyes open and get a feel for the rhythm of how these roundtables roll." She stops talking and I nod.

"I'm ready."

She exhales and bites the side of her mouth, crossing her arms over chest. "Don't get me wrong…but you'll have to hold back."

"What do you mean?" My shoes pinch my toes, but I stop thinking of my aching feet, waiting for her to explain.

Well…" She scours the ceiling with her gaze for a prolonged moment and I wonder what's she referring to. She trains her focus back to me and her expression hardens. "These political roundtables, when they're open to the press and deal with the economy and our foreign policy, can get heated. A regular political rally and congressional members present are here to posture for their supporters. Don't take what's traded as absolute. You'll see all sorts of warring, and sometimes congress can come across as cutthroat. But the next day dawns and those same people are playing tennis or attending a birthday bash."

"You mean…this is politics," I say and smile. "Trust me. I've got plenty of experience with people who say one thing and mean another. Give good face."

"I bet you do!" Her mouth opens, and her eyes go wide. "I mean, you come from powerful people. And of course, you're sophisticated."

I roll my eyes. "That's putting it mildly and you're right. My family is a small version of political jockeying gone south…or maybe sour. Whichever, I'm not naïve and thanks for the heads-up." We both laugh.

"Okay." Nora reaches for her purse. "Then it's Friday and five. Time to go. We're all meeting up at Rafferty's. Get your stuff and let's get out of here."

"Catch up with you there. I just want to stow these and organize my desk. It looks like a hurricane blew through the office I'm occupying."

"Don't worry about it…" she assures me, then shakes her head. "Do you know where the bar is?"

"Dupont Circle. All set. I've received a slew of texts during the day." My phone constantly goes off with everything from updates on committee actions to surveys on bagel and donut choices for Monday's staff briefing, which I'll miss. I watch as Nora slips on sunglasses.

"You've done great today. Enjoy the weekend. You've got my number if you have a question that can't wait until Monday."

"Go. I'm right behind you," I scoot away from her, smiling. Once inside my temporary office, I set the stack down, and there goes my phone. Pulling it out, I glance at the screen and it's a selfie from José and a text asking me "How was your first day?"

"What's so funny?" Christian fills the doorway. Our eyes meet and my craving for him ignites. Out of hiding tumbles my yearning to close the distance between us.

"Hey," I choke out. Suddenly, the walls, desk, piles of folders…everything between us disappears as he leans against the doorframe, observing me with the same intensity that he delivered the first time I noticed him across the dance floor in a New York club. I swallow, reminding myself to reconnect my brain. "Just a text. From José."

"Oh, so are you two hooking up later?" His eyes darken as he gazes at me.

"No. We went out to dinner…last night." This feels so awkward. We can't touch, and talking with feet of floor space separating us makes me highly aware of everything I want to say...but can't.

"We need to discuss a situation that's come up. Now, if possible. Do you have some time?" he asks.

"Sure. What about?"

He lifts off the doorframe and shifts his gaze away from my face, down to the carpet. Christian shakes his head, then resumes his high-powered perusal of me. Without Nora around, he doesn't temper his visual consumption of me, and I feel my body heat if not begin to melt.

"Come to my office," he directs me, loosening his tie and the top of button of his shirt, yet all the while his eyes are unwavering.

I cross the office and can't hide the shiver of excitement that runs wild through my body. "Do I need something to take notes with?"

"This won't take that long," he murmurs, gesturing toward his office.

At first, I was kind of hoping this would devolve into a quasi-fake intern assignment and us with less clothing in place since it's just he and I up here. A regular TGIF, and starting at four, herds of people stopped by, announcing the weekend kickoff.

As I pass by Christian, I focus on his eyes though intense, clearly he's troubled. "What's wrong?" My stomach knots, and I pause, refusing to break our stare.

We're closer than we've been in a day but not close enough. "This might be an opportunity for you. Care for a drink?"

"Opportunity?"

He presses his fingers along my shoulders, then lower. If I turned, I'd be flush with him and then what? If the outer door to the office suite opens, here we are…not fifteen yards away, and a hard to miss image. I acquiesce to him, guiding me toward his doorway, but not before my name is a soft whisper on his lips. "Anastasia, fuck."

My heart clambers and I turn the doorknob to his office without waiting for him to usher me inside. This is the first time I'm stepping into his office...

"Wow," I say, at the street scene of Constitution Avenue and beyond to the Capitol. It's amazing and I'm held enthralled by the view, until he shuts the door behind us. _Click!_

I feel the waves of heat roll off his body and saturate my skin. A moan floats up my throat before he touches me, and when he does—takes hold of me—I'm ready for anything and everything. A taste… a tease of his mouth, or the full hair-pulling, ass-slapping hard fuck he's shown me.

His touch is firm, firmer as he pulls to him with one of his large palms on my hip, he cinches our body together.

"Baby," he groans against the back of my head.

"Christian, I want you." My eyes drift closed, relishing the erotic sensuality this man crafts in me each time his fingers find me.

His arm snakes around my waist and he gathers my hair, twisting the strands within his other fist. I'm imprisoned, gasping and giddy within anticipation. His lips press into the skin at my neck, then kiss a path upward as his hand smooths over my ribcage to capture my breast. He pulls on the chain that delivers a slice of pain to my nipples.

"Don't take this off." His fingers curl, squeeze, and knead me as he sucks on my skin. I reach under his jacket, encounter his belt, then glide my fingers down the outline of his erect cock, and he stops sucking on my neck to hiss out my name, "Ana."

I want to fully press into him but the sensations of pleasure shatters into shards of sharp tined bliss that prick me as I arch and cry out. He palms both of my breasts, strumming his thumbs across my nipples that pebble, ache for his mouth. Twisting the chain on his finger, he yanks and devours the cry of pain I release. I grip his cock, needing his mouth on my nipples before I splinter apart.

He lifts, releasing my mouth. "How I want to own you. You have no idea."

"Show me. Please," I whisper kiss his lips.

"Shit. You're too hard to resist." Christian thrusts his hard-on up and down my palm. Oh yeah, he's giving me the _deets _all right on how hungry he is.

I curl my fingers over him, stroking him through his trousers…but it's not enough and I groan. "Please. Don't make me beg."

"What do you want, little girl?" he asks, his words tingle over my skin as he cups my breasts.

"You. Sucking on my nipples until I'm half crazy, raking my nails down your back."

His warm breath sails across my skin, catching on the kiss imprints he's left along my neck. "Can you wait until tomorrow night?"

"No. I need you. Now!" I'm coming apart from the sensation overload that occurs when we first come together. His touch, his kiss, his body tempt to me to shout, "Everything you've got!"

Does he feel how he's got me past the point of sane ideas? My body is a quivering mess and it's easier to press into him than pretend that what he's doing is less than perfect. "Anastasia, we've got to discuss something that's come up. I don't want to fuck you until you've made your decision."

I turn, glancing over my shoulder. I could be riding him right now. My body owned…between my legs—that's where he should be. Hard and pounding. I struggle to speak. "Sounds serious."

He releases my hair, and then spins me around. "It is. You need to hear me out. Over on that sofa. You'll sit down with me and listen."

From the light streaming in from the windows, Christian's pupils appear massive dark pools. I say the streaming thought overtaking my brain, "Is this an _I'm sorry this didn't work out_ type of conversation. If it is, I'd rather stand."

"That depends on you. You might be saying those words to me after you hear what I've got to share." He leans forward and slides his mouth across mine.

Holy crap! I don't care about us talking. The only thing I want to share is our bodies. I open my lips, eager to welcome his warm, wet tongue inside my mouth. Instead of slow and steady, he backs me up, pushes me against the door to his office. This isn't a sweet kiss but a fevered exploration both of us dive into. Our tongues dance, tangle without pretense, and I bite his lip, craving indescribable things from him. I rub my hands over his jacket, taking hold of his lapels, hold on tight to keep us together.

When Christian lifts his head, I'm practically panting, ready to shed my clothes on the word 'Go.' What will win out? Conversation or sex. Conversation…or yeah. Sex!

"I want you," I say, reaching for him. "Not a proposition."

He curls his fingers around my wrist and pulls me to him. "First, you need to hear the message I promised to deliver. To you."

I study him. Okay, he's got something to say, but more importantly, it's the snagging hook that has me circling back to the undertow beneath his words. "Who would want me to decide something? That would remotely involve you and me and sex?"

"Let's have a drink and deal with this situation." His tone is gravelly. His eyes unblinking. The muscle clicking along his jaw has me clenching mine. Whatever he's about to deliver—it's weighty.

"Fine. It's definitely five o'clock here and Friday. Let's christen your office."

"Jesus. That sounds like a fine way to begin the weekend." He laughs, but that sound rings hollow.

His laughter isn't reflected in his eyes where a—for a second—a slice of pain glints within his gaze. We stare unblinking into each other's eyes, and from within the depth of his eyes, the force unleashes a twinge into my chest.

"I didn't mean…" Okay, that's a big whopper. I'm totally down for 'christening' his office with hair-pulling sex. But, there's this unshuttered expression flickering over his face. The same one he trained on me in Boston. Pain mingled with something dark, and fuck. Now, it's related to something he's going to share…involving me. The twinge in my chest, jabs my ribs. I put aside everything I feel. Steel my emotions. What can I do to ease the darkness that resonates within in him, that he refuses to talk about…? "Christian, is everything all right?"

"Stellar. Don't let your imagination get the better of you." He kisses the tip of my nose and uncurls his hold on my arm. The spot where he touched my skin tingles. I accompany him to his desk and he opens a drawer, producing a bottle of Scotch. From a side table, there are glasses and he pours a liberal shot of whiskey into a pair. He puts one into my hand and takes the other. "To carefully crafted decisions."

"Oh…really," I say hoarsely, clinking his glass. "Is this a new trend?"

"Touché," he replies and lifts his glass, training his attention over the rim at me.

I take a sip, it's good, and I down the whole shot. The Scotch slides like velvet over my tongue until the liquor hits the back of my throat; then a line of fire flash burns from my tongue to my belly. My stomach is empty and the shot lands like a load of TNT with a serious kick. "Whoa," I choke, slamming my glass down.

He tosses back his drink, then sets his glass next to mine. The shots rebounds from my belly, straight to my head. I wobble, holding on to the table as I look up, and see him staring at me. Silently he bends forward and kisses me, slowly sucking on my bottom lip. The feeling is exquisite, and I moan, opening my lips, opening my... What's going on inside me? I groan, feeling the world around us shift. No longer solid-it's fluid. We're fluid...if we were other people. Dammit!

"You can't imagine how many times I've thought about your lips. Kissing and fucking your smart-aleck mouth," he whispers, his words caress my skin, slip inside me and weave tendrils within the buzz from the whiskey.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~MORE TO COME.

We'll be LEAPING in short order. If twisted love is your cuppa, then gear up and be prepared.

WARNING: one more chapter and then we're going cliff jumping.

Hopefully you can wrap your head around how a different kind of romance is expressed when it involves pain laced with love. Hurt that scars and isn't expressed outright. It's hidden until the promise of healing overrides the need for self-preservation. And that's the trip these two are taking. Together.

Thanks for reading. Be back soon.

xo


	24. DON'T YOU DARE LEAVE Vetting 3 P2

ADULT CONTENT

Mature Warning

CART, CAKE, HORSE

Or

**DON'T YOU DARE LEAVE!**

(VETTING 3 PART 2)

_Christian Grey_

I DOWN my drink and pilot Ana to my sofa, my muscles grow as rigid as my dick when she sinks onto the leather. I envision spreading her legs and thrusting into her until both of us are spent. For her sake, I hold back.

"As you know I met with the Vice President." I lower close to her, carefully choosing my next words, and take one of her hands. "I've decided to accept her offer."

"Oh God. This is the moment normal people would be jumping up and down for you. Why do I feel a sense of dread?"

"I believe the saying is_, don't put the cart in front of the horse_. There's an issue. It's not as easy as me agreeing."

"Please, don't drag this out. Just tell me whatever it is you're thinking!"

I want to tell her nothing. What the fuck was I _thinking_? That being honest was a good idea. If she decides that tomorrow night is a no go… I'll lose my cool—I can't work with her and not have access to her body—in the way I need her. I've been holding on since Boston, with one target. Getting her to the club and claiming her. Each step closer, it's as though as door within a doorway inside my brain clicks open.

No way can I pretend to be dating this girl in any normal sense. I've got to have her bound and open to me. Since the moment we met, I've been spinning on a course and the end point is close. Having Ana spread eagle as I take my time with her is a chant in my head, liquid fire coursing through my body. We'll have secret service, my idiot neighbors, and the media shadowing us if we go through with the Veep's plan and 'date' aka engage in a regular 'romance' aka possible vanilla fucking.

That shit will never fly if it means Anastasia naked on my bed. We need a place that won't cause a commotion in how hard or rough we go at each other. I scrub my hand down the side of my cheek. "Virginia's PR team believes I need to fit into a cubicle and that includes a…"

"Yes?"

"A girlfriend," I say and watch Ana's eyes widen to the size of plates.

"A_ what_?" she stutters out.

Between my gritted teeth, I whisper the lunacy I vowed to share, "They've found a girlfriend for me."

"And you agreed?"

"No! That's why we're talking—" Before I can finish, she's up and off the sofa. Her face is a shade of glowing red-pissed-off, and her eyes are blue fire as she stares down at me. But instead of saying anything, she spins on her heel, and begins to race toward the door.

"Anastasia. Stop." I bolt off the sofa and it's three strides across the room before I catch up to her. Before she can run out the door, I tell her again, "For fuck's sake. Stop!"

"Fuck. Off. Senator," she snarls without _stopping_.

One message blares through my brain: _That girl isn't going to leave._ After everything that's gone down today, I'm so close to pulling her back to the sofa, stripping her ass bare, and laying her over my lap. At the doorway, she goes to grab the knob, but I plant my hands on the door, caging her between my arms. "Aren't you going to ask who the Veep's PR team has come up with as my _love interest_?"

"I don't want to know," she says in a hoarse voice. "Reason number six hundred and sixty-six why an intern shouldn't sleep with her boss!

She's shaking and I lower my hands to her shoulders, then lower my fingers down her arms. Slowly, capture her wrist, and pull her hand from the doorknob.

"Yes. You do." I turn her around and tilt my head, watching her as she bites her lip. God, I want to undress her, and spend the next ten hours exploring her body. Fuck, how does she do this to me? Lifting her hands, I kiss her palms but she refuses to meet my gaze. "Baby, look at me."

"No." She shakes her head stubbornly, and I inhale, fighting to give her time. Her fragrance infuses the air between us and my cock throbs for relief. Sweet Jesus, I need to get inside her…all the way.

"It's you," I say, moving my hand to her cheek and tipping up her chin. "You."

Her eyes are liquid aquamarine gems, and she's blinking her lids as a tear spills onto her cheek. She's not wearing her glasses and I trace the path of the tear, needing to hear what's she thinking. I'm giving her a moment to digest the news. Hell, the idea of us dating took me by surprise and is still running rampant in my mind.

"I'm supposed to be your girlfriend? What does the VP think I am…ready and waiting in the wings? How does she even know I exist?"

"When I arrived there today, she had her PR team ready. I believe this idea of Virginia's wasn't solid…until you walked into the room. The Veep's a hawk—sees everything. Her specialty is synthesizing concepts off the cuff. Hell, off the fucking wall."

"What did I do that impressed her to the point of suggesting something this crazy?"

"Truthfully, I believe it was your ID."

She looks down as she touches her badge, and when she gazes up at me again, she shakes her head. "My last name is of no interest to her. She's mistaken if she believes I come with political ties. You know I don't. Christ, I'm on the outs with my grandparents after my conversation yesterday. And it won't stop there. The Steeles and Stillmans stick together. You can't image!"

"I can," I say quietly.

She shakes her head. "I doubt that."

I grip her arms tighter. _Can I trust her?_ "We're both islands. Dissecting ourselves from our families. Mine, the Greys from Georgia have been around forever. Before the Civil War. Still around. Old timers. KKK shit." The world around us fades. I flick my thumb across her skin in a slow circle as I say, "You've seen my scars. I told you, they're from a hunting accident with my uncle."

"Yes." She blinks.

Fuck. Should I let her in? More than I've already done. I inhale a lungful of air. "It was more than a hunting accident. My uncle… my father's brother abducted me when I was four. He took me to a cabin. I was there for a couple of weeks. He did stuff…" I close my eyes, clench my jaw. My whole body turns cold. My heart pounds. Pounds so hard and fast, as flickering images fill my head—fuck! I slam the door shut on the past and hoarsely whisper, "The reason for the scars."

When I look down at her she's got this expression like she's just witnessed a car crash. "Oh my God!"

"I was rescued. But it's taken a toil…in how I relate to people. Women," I say.

"You're perfect…to me."

For seconds we simply hold each's stare. I can't tell her the whole truth. It was my mother's side of the family who came—from the shadows and found my uncle's hideout. No one knows I was abducted. No one knows my uncle was brutally slain. No one knows the secret I carry…until now.

"We're both on the outs…where our families are concerned. Trust me, I get how screwed up families can be."

She nods, reaching up and touching my face. "What's next?"

Before we left Boston, Ana contacted her grandparents by phone. I have no idea what she said or their reaction, but from her pink cheeks I imagined whatever she'd said—it was a long time in coming. I get that everyone is enthralled by her family but to me, less is more. What I desire with her would be easier if neither of us had any connections to the limelight. Each person or connection is one more tripwire we have to deal with—so if she could cut all ties like I have. Fuck, I'd be pleased.

"I told her I didn't think it was a good idea…but she brought up the point that it wasn't my decision. Entirely."

"Yes. It is. You can say 'No'?"

"Sure. And then I won't be running for Vice President."

"So this is on me? Whether you run or not."

"If it matters and here's a point that might interest you…considering your recent quest for independence from your family." I stare down at her, gauging how to pave the path that could lead directly into the bowels of hell. "The Veep considers this a personal favor…on your part. And she wants me to relay she'd owe you."

"The Vice President said that?" One of Ana's brows lifts in question.

"Yes. And she wants to have lunch. On Sunday to discuss how this will unfold." I resume my hold on her arms, sliding my hands to her wrists. Delicate. Mine to possess.

"What about tomorrow…night?"

I gaze into this girl's eyes that reach into me…deep. I lift her wrists above her head. "That decision is yours."

"Can we do both?" Her voice comes out breathy. The question…seductive.

We stare at one another for a beat. "You mean…you're willing to be my submissive and pretend to be my girlfriend?"

"Define pretend?" Her eyes glimmer dangerously, catering to my need to own her completely.

She's got to know how insanely attracted I am to her. In case she doesn't, I press my hardened cock into her belly, and between my gritted teeth I say, "Not real."

"Does not real involve sex?" She rolls her lip between her teeth.

I laugh. Holy fuck. "That's burning the candle at both ends and the middle. Do you understand how risky it would be?"

"Why? We're adults."

"Baby, the people you'll see tomorrow night are all adults and all of them demand their private lives remain hidden. You can't talk. Not even if the CIA pulls you in for questioning. No one can know it's you. That means you'd have to be incognito at the club. You willing to do that 'cause you can't have it both ways? One slip and we're fucked."

"What about you? Don't people know your identity?"

"That's part of the quandary…but I know enough about a slew of people to equalize the risk…for me." I bend forward while hoisting her hands higher. Her breath catches as her tits lift. "I want your eyes on me. At all times."

"What are you going to do?"

"A little practice session to get you prepped for tomorrow."

With a gasp, she gapes up at me. "My rear end is still sore."

"Marked by my hand," I whisper against her mouth. "I barely sampled you."

"Then please," she says as I crash my mouth down on hers. I shift her hands to one of my own and if this were the club, I'd rip the clothes from her body. No act. Pure need.

I pump my hips, barrel into her body as though my rough treatment of her might assuage the ache that's growing inside me, blazing to be set free. I'm consumed by her and each minute that passes I swear will be the last that I keep hidden what I want…yet must. If we begin to date. The extent that I desire her may have to remain buried within me. We've known each other less than three days. Okay, not true. I kissed her and have been haunted by her for months. Now, I can't figure out a way to keep what we have low key. We're going to fuck unrelenting at the House and then pretend to be the epitome of composure, trekking on a campaign trail as partners. "You're not going to be an intern," I snarl.

"What?" she snaps, trying to pull her hands free. "Are you firing me?"

"No!" I wedge my foot between her heels, reach down and lift her hem. "You're going to be part of my staff. Paid. Less a chance of impropriety."

"But still…it's going to get someone's panties in a twist," she counters.

Lifting just enough to slip my hand between us, I hook my finger inside the ribbon over her hip and snap. "Not yours."

"Let me touch you. Your hair. For GOD'S SAKE!"

Her words spur me on. She's unraveling and giving me exactly what I hunger for. "I can see I've got my work cut out. Tomorrow, there's no begging. No talking or you'll soon learn what happens to submissives who can't control themselves. Would you care for a taste?"

"I can take whatever you're dishing out!"

What I'd give to have her wrists bound and secured. To pinch her nipples as I fuck her tits and then to feed my cock into her lush mouth as she sucks on my crown. "I want to fuck your mouth again," I bite out the words as I undo my fly, lower my zipper, and free my cock. I lock the door and can't believe I'm about to take her up against a wall. Again. She makes me want to be savage as if that will lessen this claim she has on me. I can't hold back and lift her leg, swipe my cock against her cunt and then pummel inside her tight body. "Fuck! Anastasia!"

Primitively, I curse not from the mere mind-blowing intense pleasure that races a circuit through every cell in my body, but from the extreme freedom in which I can fuck this girl. Any moment of any day I hunger to have her.

"Please…Christian." I feel her pussy clench around me and I release her wrists.

Lifting her other leg, I impale my dick inside her as she moans, calling my name over and over. She whimpers, the sound is erotically eviscerating and I'm ready to jet hard and fast. My mouth covers her, I crave her sounds…her scent. If time were on my side, I'd devour her until she's mine. All. Fucking. Mine.

Her lips are soft, smooth, and open. She's giving me her tongue and I suck it greedily as I fuck her. Repeatedly I slam into her pussy as she yanks handfuls of my hair. Together we fuck brutally, and I need everything from her. I walk with her wrapped around me and lower us to the sofa.

"Please. More. Don't stop," she begs. Her words expand until there's nothing I can do but give her what she desires.

Using the armrest, I leverage my body and pound into her. I deliver controlled, fluid, lust-filled power-strokes, bordering on violent.

I arch upward, sheathing my cock inside her pussy, again and again. Each thrust we come together, deeper, harder than the last. She tightens, her back bows off the sofa—the muscles over her body grow taut and her cunt squeezes me sweetly. She milks the breath from my lungs and the cum from my cock. I pour myself into her. Her name spills from my mouth as I release inside her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ more to come!

Okay. Let's have a little chat after this one.

Even though what goes on is via the 'net, I feel so very connected to this community.

BIG HUG to the power of a million for tuning in to this darker, twisted version of FSOG. I can't thank you thank you thank you enough for giving me feedback, a heads up when something is a little off, and writing to say 'more' each time a chapter is posted. As you know, every writer on fanfic is sharing their love, their art, their craft. It takes a heck of a lot of time to write these stories, share, and stay in touch.

For those who get this story, xoxo. Highest of high fives!

The next installment takes us to the HOUSE. Are you ready?

OR

Do you need more time to digest what's gone down?

The question goes to can we dive sooner than later, or for the sake of everyone's sanity, should we take a week off?

Let me know.

ARE YOU READY 'cause we're at the doorway?

xo


	25. SUBMISSIVE IN TRAINING Vetting 4 P1

**STEP ONE: CONQUER THE WORLD**

**Vetting 4 Part 1 **

**(Hint: this chapter is divided into parts and presented as such. **

**My art, my way.)**

**_Enjoy._**

STEP ONE: CONQUER THE WORLD

Ana Steele, Submissive in Training

"ANA ARE YOU sure you don't want to come out with me?" Kate asks, coming into the living room.

"Third wheel? No. I'm good. Besides, I've got a ton of work to get done." I pat the file on my lap.

"Richard's a director. His last film won an Academy Award. He surrounds himself with people. GOOD. LOOKING. INTERESTING. PEOPLE!"

I cock an eyebrow. "Those fly by night types…that's your fantasy. Not mine."

My roommate shrugs. "Don't knock 'em until you try a few." She laughs and waves from the foyer, adjusting her carryon. As soon as the door shuts, I jet off the sofa and down the hall into my bedroom. It's a little over an hour before I have to be at the hotel lobby where the car Christian's sending for me will arrive. With Kate finally gone, I can try and figure out what to do with my hair.

An hour later, my nails are done and my hair is pinned in place under a dark wig, and I'm sitting inside a cab that's pulling up to the Capella hotel. I exit the cab and head for the entrance. "May I help you?" the doorman asks.

"Yes…I'm here." Oh shit. He has a computer tablet and waits patiently for me to explain. "I'm meeting someone in the lobby."

"Your name?"

I hesitate. Christian said to give the fake name we agreed I'd use if anyone asked. "Ms. Excess," I reply, meeting his eyes.

"Ah yes. Your room is ready." He flicks his glance to a porter standing nearby. "Show, Ms. Excess to check-in."

"Thank you," I murmur, confused why I have a room at this exclusive hotel. I can't call Christian and ask so I follow along. The car isn't due to be here to pick me up for another twenty minutes and I have time.

Up in the room—no, that's wrong. It's a suite. And it's beyond luxurious even for an exclusive hotel. Numerous works of art adorn the walls. I'm talking museum quality along modern sculptured statues that are scattered here and there. A bottle of champagne sits in a bucket of ice on the side table along with a solitary crystal flute and a single red rose. I sniff the rose, inhaling the sweet cloying scent.

I set my bag down and pour a glass of champagne. Alone, I sip and walk out to the terrace, overlooking Georgetown. As I lean over the railing, my cell rings, and I flinch. Digging my phone from jacket pocket, I stare down at José's face on the screen along with his number.

"Hey," I say after downing the rest of my drink.

"The Speaker is so fucking hot, I need to get laid. You up for a night of drinking and dancing?" he belts out.

"You were at work today?" I feel a pang of guilt.

"Hell yeah. Carter called everyone in and fuck, I'm down for pretending to be a quasi-intern to get the scoop on him. And after today, I made a few solid connections. Jesus H. Christ, I deserve to celebrate."

I clutch the railing and survey the street below. "José, be careful. Gossip flows nonstop. You told me that one."

"Well sweetheart, I vetted these sources. Enough that, I'm flush with a load of scandalous details that I shared with my editor."

"And?" I ask, waiting to hear what dirty details he's unearthed. José is the journalistic equivalent to a Redbone Coonhound in sniffing out clues…secrets.

"Got the greenlight to go ahead. Even an expense account this time. My editor is psyched, but now I'm off. And horny. Are you at home?"

"Um no... I'm out." _Yeah out on a balcony that feels more like a limb._ I twirl the stem of the flute between my fingers and notice my red lipstick imprint on the crystal.

"Out doing what?" he asks.

"Girl stuff." Retreating inside, I open my purse, pulling out my makeup bag. "Looking for work clothes. Makeup. Shopping with Kate. Now, we're onto see _Beyond Paradise_," I say as my gaze alights to the open paper on the table next to me.

With my lipstick in hand, I pace next to the terrace door, then veer away, praying he doesn't run into my roommate tonight, and bust my ass for out and out lying.

"_Gah_. Sounds like a romance," he replies.

José for all his let's do things the gay way isn't into chick flicks. He sucks dick, but isn't touchy-feely. More like rough and tumble with tattooed arms, and usually sporting enough beard stubble to look a little dark himself except I know he's into preppy guys. Button-down-shirt-tweed-coat-bowtie wearing studs.

"It is," I reply. "You know how Kate loves those kinds of flicks." Excuses. Lies. I spin left and right. Effectively I'm becoming the queen of smoke and mirrors. There's no way he wants in on a chick flick.

"Well, love bug, then I'll leave you too it. Tell _the_ _Katemeister_, we need to do another dinner. Soon. And this time, on my side of town."

We say so long and I promise to connect with him tomorrow. How? I have no idea.

I reapply my lipstick, adjust my wig, pushing aside stray almost black hair from my eyes, and survey my jacket. Yeah, I'd better remove it. I fold and stow my jacket in my carryon, then pick up my bag, grab the key, and head for the elevator. I'm gripping the magnetic key card like a lifeline as I descend, and slip it in my bag. Exiting the elevator, I take a seat in the lobby, people watch for a few minutes.

Well crap, all of these people within the lobby fade from the periphery of my field of worry as a sleek black car pulls up outside and I wonder if that's my ride. Christian fucked me in his office yesterday, and then as we lay on his sofa, his cock imbedded inside me, he explained the steps to my indoctrination plan. I'd be picked up by a driver.

He made me repeat the direction that I'd sit in this lobby until the driver came and found me. The keeper…the person in charge of me—would be picked up afterward. Once we connect, I'm to do exactly what my keeper says. If I have questions, they won't be answered.

He gave strict instructions. I'm to keep my gaze lowered. At all times…unless according to Christian, I'd like to get a lesson of submissive training without him.

I'm shaking as I rise from the chair. I can't help but flick my gaze toward the door, anxious to see the face of the man who's coming for me then a sound…a snap…and I gasp, forcing my eyes downward. Shit, I'm not about to make this easy for some 'keeper' to get his rocks off by spanking me…or worse.

The lobby door opens, and I strain to keep my focus on my shoes rather than the clip-clopping footsteps of the person who just entered. He's headed in my direction—a sharp left to the entrance. Dammit, beads of sweat erupt along my hairline. I remember…focus on _my_ shoes!

Crisscrossing red leather press over my feet. My toes nails are a matching shade of candy apple red. The strappy laces, scale my legs, wrap around my calves.

The footsteps are near, and I teeter on my six-inch heels. It'd taken me more than an hour to decide on what to wear. I went with, if I was going to do this, then Christ I'd better do it with some panache. _Go big or don't go at all kinda attitude_.

My dress is less of a neon sign that says 'do me.' It's a clingy black number with a red glittery gem button that secures the halter straps at the back of my neck.

I press my calves to the seat as the man's shoes slap the lobby floor. The sounds pelt against my awareness with ping-ping-prickle. His shoes appear in my field of vision. Black leather. Polished. Expensive oxfords. The cuffs of his trousers are pressed and without glancing upward, I imagine he's wearing a tailored suit. Christian said the 'driver' would fetch me from the lobby…and this man has the presence of being more than a driver.

"Miss _Excess_?" he asks in buffered, firm tone, using my pseudonym. I nod and he lifts my case. "Right this way."

Stiffly, I follow him outside to the sidewalk. Summer in D.C. is warm, the skies are clear, and the evening breeze tingles the moisture on my skin. When he opens the door to the backseat, I lower myself inside, closing my eyes, unwilling to give into temptation to seek out his identity.

The security screen is up, separating us. The car pulls away from the hotel and I look out, expecting to see the street, the traffic, and the people walking on the sidewalk. But I don't see anything except my reflection. Wide eyes…wired eyes. The windows are now blacked out—opaque.

"There's a mask on the seat next to you. Please put the mask on." The driver's voice fills the backseat by way of the intercom.

I seek what he's described and pick up a piece of black satin. I slip on the plain mask over my face, tying the cords, and discover there aren't any eyeholes—or rather there are but they're sealed with a piece of satin. In another few seconds the driver informs me we're about to enter an underground garage and not to be worry when we stop.

It's disconcerting not being able to see. I haphazardly brush away strands of hair the tickle my face. I lower my arms, running my fingers over the edge of the leather seat, then decide to fold my hands in my lap, but just as fast decide against clasped hands when the car swerves. I reach out for something to steady myself and hold onto the door panel as the car comes to a stop.

The backseat door opposite to me opens and someone slips onto the seat. I look away, even more unsure what to do in the presence of this stranger….my keeper.

"Darlin', I need to adjust the mask." A distinct man's voice accented with a twang confronts me and I jump. His touch is warm as he enfolds my arm within his hand. A beep sounds. "We're ready," he replies.

The car is in motion again. We leave the garage I presume…on the way to the _House_. My heartbeat pounds in my ears. Flashing open my eyes, then just as rapidly I scrunch them closed. I'm hyper focused… so much the hairs all over my body stand at attention. The inside of the car is cool, the air flows over my skin which is both scorched, yet a chill works up my spine, unleashing goose bumps along my shoulders and arms.

Across the backseat, I can see a slice from the corner of the mask. The man's other hand casually placed on his thigh. Tan and roped muscle compose his forearm. He's wearing a Rolex watch and dark jeans. That's all I know.

"I'm going to touch your head," the man…my keeper says. "To adjust the mask. Turn toward your left."

I turn and he laughs. "Your other left."

Gasping, I rapidly swing my chin toward my other shoulder. My mouth is dry. Easier to remain silent and I tell myself relax. Breathe. I'm on my way to Christian.

He unties the bands, rearranges my pageboy wig. This part of my keeper dealing with the minor details, I guess is the norm. All my brown hair hidden, neatly pinned in place.

He stops, then he exhales. His breath spreads along my skin. "Your master wants your hair down. I'm gonna have to tie the bands tight. Let me know if they're uncomfortable." His fingers brush back my hair in that way a man does, not knowing what to do with hair, and I remain frozen as he re-ties the mask.

"Sit back. Would you like something to drink? We've got a full bar…or water."

I shake my head, but then remember Christian's instruction on how to answer this man. "No thank you, Keeper."

He chuckles darkly. "You're master will be pleasantly surprised that you remembered how to address me without requiring a reminder except…" He feathers his fingers along my head. "Your face, although a beautiful work of art is to engender submission. You're not here to prove a point. Egotistical pride has no place in the world you're entering. Hold your head…like this."

He guides my face until my chin is almost touches my chest. "Thank you," I say woodenly, and add. "Keeper."

"You're spirited. Trust me. Loosen up. You'll enjoy this, a whole lot more, if you relax. And trust those in charge."

Doesn't feel that way as I sit here. Blindfolded next to a man with a Texas drawl that seems to enjoy this part of introducing players. He leans over. "Did I speak too hastily, sugar?"

"No, Keeper. I…" What the hell am I supposed to say? "I'll try and relax. Thank you."

"Sugar, I seriously suggest you do...unless you enjoy being disciplined. Do you?"

My stomach knots. Is he playing with me or testing me? "I don't, Keeper," I assure him, instinctively lifting my chin.

"Ah, well, that remains to be seen," he laughs darkly, but cups my chin firmly, tugging my face downward. "Last warning. You'd remember my directions, Miss Excess."

He releases my face, and then moves on the seat. I exhale, my face prickling where he touched. There's the clinking of crystal. A tap, and a buzz. His cell? "Right on schedule. You're joking." He sighs…loudly. "That's not part of the given rules. A by-law. Well fuck. You ought to know. Will do."

My keeper isn't pleased from the extended exhalation he lets go. The leather seat dips and he's pouring. Stops and pours again. "Darlin', drink this."

I don't want to drink anything…or do I? I outstretch my hands and he curls my fingers around a tumbler. Lifting it, I stop and pause. The crystal is cool against my lips and I inhale the scent of aged Scotch. I think of Christian and think what the hell. I tip and swallow, not stopping until I've downed what feels like a gallon of smooth gasoline. From behind the mask my eyes sting, and I close my lids, staunching the tears that collect. Not this side of hell is my keeper going to report I cried during the car ride.

The Scotch warms my belly and then I feel the warmth weave loose tendrils across my body. Lost in thought, I half listen as my keeper takes call after call. Sometimes he replies in a clipped tone, other times, he laughs, and his drawl gets much more pronounced.

"We just pulled up," he says abruptly to the person on his cell, and I sit up. I didn't realize the car had stopped. "Catch you inside," he says.

The door opens. "Miss Excess, allow me." It's the driver again…I think. He takes hold of my arm near my elbow.

I'm lead, maybe six or seven steps over pavement, and then I'm told to take a 'step.'

"Step," he says again. "Last one. Step."

And I'm inside. The door is shut and there's a hand on my shoulder, and another at my small of my back. "Right this way," the keeper says.

I glide alongside him. His touch isn't creepy…it's more clinical like a doctor or maybe I'm a little drunk. Either way, I'm less of a plank of wood even if I'm without my sight. It could be a good thing. Crap, if I actually witnessed a room filled with whips, manacles, and chains, I'd flip my lid at this point.

We pause, a door opens, and a woman leans in close. Is she kissing the keeper? I hear her voice purring a seductive welcome. "Good evening, Jax. I mean, Cash."

He stiffens. Is she speaking to my keeper. Her footsteps creak across the floor and the door closes with a muted thud. I feel him relax next to me as he resumes guiding me forward.

_Jax?_ Did I just hear her correctly? Christian said this private club was strictly for members from the Capitol. There's only one congressman…one I distinctly remember who goes by Jax. _Jackson Carter_. How many other congressional members have that nickname…and are from Texas? Oh. Dear. Fucking. God!

I pull back as my whole body drops a good ten degrees. A blanket of cold saturates the surface of my skin and I shiver. I'm scrambling.

"Whoa," Jax whispers. "What happened?"

My thoughts swirl within a vortex and I latch onto one. What are the chances of José finding out this place exists and his new source is a keeper? Forget being relaxed! I'm back to feeling like my body is a plank of wood ready to splinter apart.

"Are we alone?" Forget submissive body stance and demure face down training 101, I'm ready to yank off my mask.

"You're accounted with the rules. You don't ask the questions. What's going on Miss _Excess_?"

I can't divulge that José is working on a piece in this man's office…looking for this exact type of controversy to spark a deluge of readers. It's what would catapult José into journalistic orbit. Perhaps not a Pulitzer, but he'd gain recognition. "Nothing," I choke out. "Just nervous, Keeper. Thank you for asking."

He doesn't respond…not at first. "I want you to take a deep breath. Don't stop inhaling until I tell you to. Slow. Steady. Begin," he says in an authoritative tone.

I inhale, sipping air between my lips until he directs me to stop. "Hold it," Jax commands sharply, and I tighten my stomach muscles, waiting. Waiting. Waiting until finally he says, "Release."

I exhale and he places both his hands on my arms. "It's a long night, sugar. You need oxygen. Simple trick. If you use it. Matter of fact, if I find that you're holding that sweet breath of yours, I'll be the first person to sample how lush your ass is. It's _my_ prerogative, and even if your Master isn't down for sharing you…I've got to do what's in _your_ best interest. Not his."

My brow knits. _He'd do something to directly oppose Christian?_ That doesn't sound like a sane plan anyone should consider.

"I'll remember to breathe," I declare with a deep breath and then another. "Thank you, Keeper."

"Your nickname is spot on, little sub."

What is he referring to? I don't think further. His hands are on me, undoing the clasp at the back of my neck and without warning my dress top slides down my upper body. Christian warned me with words, but not in absolutes. My keeper would prepare me. I don't know why I assumed I'd be dressed. But to be stark naked…I'm not prepared, and go to step back. Nothing compares with how unbalanced this all feels.

"Not so fast," Jax says as he slips a sheath of soft, silky material over my shoulders. He turns me slightly, and then his fingers bump my chin. He's tying cords under my chin. From the front folds, he takes hold of my dress and deftly swings it around on my hips, lowers the zipper, holds my arm and says, "Step" as my dress falls away from my body, down my legs to the floor.

The folds of the cape swing closed again and I do as directed, stepping without seeing as Jax guides me forward. His hands separate the folds of the cape covering me as cool air swirls over my skin, and his hands glide over my hips, plucking the elastic bands. He pulls down my panties in silence. A burst of heat like a billowing storm cloud races up from my shoulder blades, scorching a path, and landing across my face. From his movements, I get that he's kneeling right now as he lowers my panties down my thighs. He takes one of my hands, still pulling my panties that skim the insides of my knees, down to ankles and once more informs me, "Step."

I'm naked and blindfolded, wearing a cape and a mask and heels. Shaking like a leaf in a freak storm, I'm a year past embarrassed to the nth degree with a stranger's face inches from my sex. The front of the cape closes again, and I gasp in relief.

"Raise your hands. Behind your back." Jax is standing behind me from the sound of his voice and when I do as he says, I feel metal—cold and fixed encircle one wrist and then the other. I'm cuffed and he puts something small into my hand.

"The key. You'll present this to your master," he says and I understand.

Christian said I'd have something to offer him as a show of submission and I take that the key is more symbolic than simply the means to freeing my wrists.

"It's time," Jax informs me and for all that being undressed by a stranger is not my idea of how to have a hooting-n-hollering good time on Saturday night, the idea of being lead out to a stage where a room full of people can see me is a hundred times more nerve-wracking and…I freeze.

There's a boost of sound and I understand from the scuffle of feet into the room, we're no longer alone. "So, this is the newbie?" A man's voice comes closer to me and I shudder.

"Yep. How's the crowd?" Jax asks unperturbed.

"We've got the same echelon as the other night," the voice of the man is deep but soft, and there's an air of authority. It's a quality that I recognize in Christian's voice and Jax's, and now this other man. They must be partners—the ones Christian referred to as the other Doms. "Message from the stage. Don't remove the sub's cape."

"Trust me," Jax retorts. "I got an earful. This is going to go down in history and it's a good thing it's Christian's first night back, or there's a few members I can readily envision going _balls to the wall_ ballistic. Frankly, I don't know if this will fly. If someone demands to sample her first, this is going to devolve into unadulterated chaos."

"I hear you, but he's got them eating out of his palm. Something about him, they can't get enough."

"We'll see. Security ready?"

"With the brass here, the grounds are secured. Let's do this."

They speak in hushed voices. Business as usual, yet their assured talk does nothing to keep my from stomach from knotting, worse when I'm piloted out of the room. On either side of my body, Jax and the other man grasp me by my elbows, escorting me down what I believe is a hall from the way people jostle and excuse themselves as we walk, then make a turn, and then another one in some type of maze where I hear muffled voices. A few whimpers, smacking flesh, and grunts as we pass doorways, and I imagine these are the rooms where anything goes. Christian informed me there's a hall where there aren't any doors. This must be that corridor. All the House rooms except one are open to viewing. Some have windows within private halls, accessible only by the Dom and his submissive. He promised me, we wouldn't be in one of the large community spaces, but the first time, we'd have as much privacy as the House affords for a public claiming, which means a mirror and on the other side, people watching.

We pause and from the tiny cracks along the side of the mask, I absorb the lighting is different. Diffused. Dim. But there's an energy that crackles all around us. People speak in muted voices. There's the sound of crystal clinking, and floating laughter.

"We'll lead you up three steps to the stage and you'll kneel. Wait for your Master to claim you. Do exactly as he orders or you'll be disciplined. On stage. Understand?" Jax asks.

"Yes, Keeper. Thank you," I whisper hoarsely as my knees go weak.

If it weren't for the two men on either side of me and their commanding grip on my arms, never in a million years would I make it up those steps. Then I'm on stage and told to kneel as they assist me down. The whir of words grows in volume, and from within the murmur of voices I make out specific talk… about me.

Men and women discuss my role as a submissive and what they'd like to do to me. How they'd find pleasure in my body. How they'd share me.

Instead of posturing with a meek submissive downcast face, I raise my chin. I might be blindfolded and my arms cuffed behind my back, but I damned well am not going to pretend that anyone in this room has a chance in hell with doing anything to me!

"For the love of God," I hear Christian's growl and the thud of his feet hitting the edge the stage. "You look like you want to conquer the world, my little sub."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~CHRISTIAN IS UP NEXT.

STAY TUNED.

I know you want the next part, but we had to 'set the stag' as we all crowd into the House.

At this moment, we're the audience. So sit tight, pour yourself a drink, and absorb the house atmosphere in which we cloistered, and those powerful people around us. *Wink!*


	26. AT THE EDGE Vetting 4 P2

**ADULT CONTENT**

SECOND TIME: MATURE THEMES EXPRESSED

**AT THE EDGE…**

Christian Grey

SCALING THE stairs to the stage, I'm ready to spew. The House is full and it's standing room tonight. I'm wearing a pair of leathers and motorcycle boots as I prepare to take to the stage, and my entire focus is on Ana. Stationed at the bar, I watched her being lead inside by Jax and Noah, my jaw clenched and praying that she makes to the stage without someone present making the supreme mistake of touching her.

It's enough to take me over the fucking edge to have Jax undress her, but at least with him I'm assured he's into men and his hands on her are devoid of lust. Of course outside our club, no one discusses that the Speaker of the House is gay. Sure Jax will thrust his dick into a woman but only if it's a tag team situation with a lover where ultimately he ends up pumping himself into some dude. Would I trust Anastasia with any other of my partners? One answer. Fuck no!

Today I read over…more like scoured and dissected the Clubhouse laws and by-laws, until I found one that I fully intend to utilize in lieu to derail my claiming Anastasia from becoming a true submissive auction. With serious money on board tonight, I'm not about to be outbid, and am asserting my right as House Dom to claim her as mine—unrestrained as long as I commit to a full-term training which means we're here for the next three months and I'm pretty sure of the outcome. There's loophole that we'll use…

I've been focusing on one woman who entered the main bar, hyper vigilant and I return to the here and now, and honestly I can't imagine me here with her for the next three minutes…until she notches up her chin in defiance. And fuck, everything in the place dissolves except this girl's unbearable inability to tone it down, confirming my decision.

"For the love of God. You look like you want to conquer the world, little sub," I snarl as I stalk across the stage and come to stand directly in front of her. She's blindfolded and the eye shield is in place, yet her stubbornness is evident in every nuance she casts. With the near black hair of the wig framing her high cheekbones, her skin is luminescent and her full mouth is a jewel I hunger to own. I reach out and rub my thumb along her jaw, to her lips, and press her mouth open. My cock hardens and I'm there. Ready to assume possession of her completely. Back in the saddle in wanting to command my defiant little submissive.

I peel away the strip of material that hides her eyes. Bluest of blue, and when the material is taken off, she blinks. Our gazes fuse and I feel a jolt of excitement blaze a path across my skin. With my other hand, I cup her chin as she teeters forward.

"I own you," I say.

Her chin quivers and I wait what feels like a year for her to answer. When she does, she whispers, "Yes, Master."

A sliver of excitement races across my nerve endings. The air around us crackles. The stage, the people, the House are inconsequential. It's only her I train my entire focus upon.

"Keeper, make the necessary announcement," I direct Jax in a quiet voice that rumbles out as a growl. I flash my eyes across the audience, daring anyone to contradict what's about to be announced. Anastasia and I with our expressions of complete disregard and defiance must resemble quite the pair. There's a thunderous murmur spreading throughout the room—not outright opposition—but those present must be wondering why I haven't unsheathed the woman kneeling in front of me. _Well, tonight they're in for a surprise_.

Jackson Carter nods solemnly and informs the members present that the first auction of the night isn't going forward as I've elected my rights as House Dom to claim this submissive for my own. Restricting all access to her. Barring any member from sampling her.

"Do you fully intend on abiding by the provisions set out in our House rules?" Jax questions me. Publically, laying the foundation. The ripple of disbelief in hushed voices and chairs moving gets louder…until Jax lifts and slams down the gavel. "All quiet." He looks to the dark suited security detail around the perimeter of the room and those stationed at either side of the stage. A sign that members will be removed at the slightest provocation.

"Absolutely. Without fail. This submissive is mine. Only mine," I answer him. If I don't it means I'll lose my position here, and another _House_ Dom will step in and could demand authority while Anastasia and I are here. Doesn't matter that the other owners and I are friends or work the Hill on joint committees. Doesn't matter that we've covered each other's backs over the years, and are closer than brothers. Claiming a submissive involves one goal: providing the sub with what she—or he—needs. Yes, without question we acquire the means to satisfy our over-the-top hunger—but all power is drawn from the submissive's submission.

I've chosen to walk a precarious line and one false move opens the door to another dominant owning this girl's body while I'd be forced to watch…endure. The muscles over my body tighten into cords at the thought of another touching her—that day will NEVER DAWN!

Anastasia sways, and I reach out to her shoulder, holding on to her trembling body. "Are you steady?" I growl between my gritted teeth. I'm hard, thick, and in need of her lips wrapped around my crown.

"Yes, sir." Her eyes hold mine, we stare at one another, and like the minx that she is, she slowly, provocatively licks her lips. The sight of her tongue—her piercing dancing over her petal soft lips has me to the point of no return.

Tonight we begin defining how much of her I possess. The next step is the make or break moment.

We discussed how I'd claim her. She's been versed in the questions I'll pose and how she's to answer, how's she will address me, and what I'll do. Then why the fuck am I stalling…either I claim her or cut her loose. There's no straddling the fence. No vanilla dating in my world. This is the place where she and I can come without risk of scandal. Together we'll make history—but only these walls will be privy.

"Do you agree to my domination over you?"

"I do, Master."

I lower my zipper and free my cock, tap the blunt part of my crown on her lips, glossing her lips with pre cum. She opens her pink, glistening mouth as bite back a groan snaking up my throat as she licks across my dick with her pierced tongue. I hold myself out to her, slipping just the tip of my cock into her hot mouth and piston my hips, going farther and deeper.

Threading my hands into her hair, I cup the back of her head as I fuck her mouth, demonstrating to all present this is what happens to a new submissive who decisively begins the night on a defiant note. It's either this, or stripping her bare, parading her down the aisle, and giving everyone nearby the opportunity to touch…fondle her.

No need to look out and over the audience to ascertain that some of the members present more than likely are jacking off, finger fucking themselves, or have a sub in front them on their knees as they get sucked off, blown to hell. This is the only time during the night that within the great room sexual contact is permitted besides those on stage. A few women members, Dominatrices I'm acquainted with speak in harsh tones, demanding that I force my cock down Anastasia's throat.

My fingers tangle over her wig as I hold her still for my pleasure. Not theirs. At first I move in slow measure strokes but as liquid fire ignites and then detonates under my skin, I move harder and faster. She nods, sucking me with greater intensity, her head bobbing up and down my crown, flicking the metal ball at the tip of her tongue in torturous sweeps at the back of my rod. My body goes rigid, the muscles of my ab down to my hamstrings constrict. _Holy fuck! _

"Soon, sub." And then I'm there. I jet into her mouth, but the girl shows me no mercy.

"Mmm," she hums over my cock. She swallows and resumes sucking my crown, running her piercing along my ridge.

All my muscles contract as another spasm rips through me, and I force my column deep into her mouth. Her fingers stroke my balls, and I rocket full throttle as ecstasy shoots up my spine and out my cock as I release into her. I thrust in and out of her warm wet mouth, then pound forward, ramming my rod to the back of her throat. The burn of my muscles flares as pleasure explodes into blinding light that fills my head.

"_Sub_," I grunt, holding her and watching her lips ghost near my lower ab. For seconds, I'm fully inside her mouth and deep down her throat as I stare at her, our gazes collide.

She's incredible, sucking hard on my shaft as I withdraw from her greedy mouth. I tuck my cock back into my leathers, hungry to have her bound and open for me. I reach down, carefully lifting her upward. As soon as we're standing next to one another, I can't help myself and lean forward, kissing her mouth in front of the whole room. Hands pound tables and disgruntled noise flare in the form of harsh talk, issued most likely from other Doms still pissed at being undercut.

"Someone's not happy," she whispers against my lips. Her fuckable mouth curls into a delicious grin. "I have something for you. In my hand."

Granted not the usual way a Dom greets his new submissive and I pull her to me. "I don't give a flying fuck about them," I say, spinning her around, and seeking her palm. I swipe the key from her hand, and unlock the restraints, smoothing my fingers across the red marks marring her skin. This will be the last time I see metal mar her beautiful skin.

I toss the cuffs onto the lectern as Jax knocks the gavel down to reestablish order. "Rowdy crowd," I retort as his and my eyes lock.

He grins. "Boy, you do have the effect on people. Now don't you?"

Leading Ana from the stage, I guide her past the tables, leaning in close and telling her to look straight ahead and not down. "But that's not what Jax said to do," she informs me.

I growl out, "Is he your Dom?"

At the threshold, she breaks her unyielding stare forward and glances back at me, lips parted and replies, "No. But I don't understand."

I pilot her just beyond the main room, then pull her near to me. Holding on to her cloaked shoulders, I rub my thumbs along her collarbone concealed by the silky material. "I admire your strength. I'm not here to break you but to teach you. Remember. Lessons one and two. You're ready for another. Yeah?"

"It's why I'm here. Please, teach me." She nods, her eyes appear incandescent from behind the mask, and I tilt her chin, peer at her for a beat, absorbing her beauty.

Inside the hallway, it's quieter and I lean in closer, whispering. "Don't ever give up your core strength. Ever. It's what drew me to you in the first place. There's a difference between establishing your locus of control and relying on mine. I'll push you and assuredly, you're going to bend, but don't discount that ability. It's borne out of strength. Bamboo versus the oak. Which one is stronger?"

"Are you telling me this because of where we're headed?" She shifts her eyes down the hall then back to mine.

"I'm giving you advice as well as letting you know I see you. I want you. I'm not here to destroy what I…desire and admire. You're the first submissive I've ever claimed in this manner." My words come tumbling out until I can see _where I'm headed_. If I say too much, she might not go through with this. I haven't had time to discuss the slight change in plans so of course, she doesn't realize how this can spin out of control.

Fuck, so out of control I get that I'm lying through my hypocritical teeth by agreeing that another man could ever touch her. I can't deny her if she asks the real question of where are we headed. We're—or really for the moment, I'm weaving secrets, and the paradox is I desire honesty between us. Yet how can I be open with her as we put ourselves on display, when too quickly I'm coming to understand—with her…I want… I can't even define what the hell it is that I desire.

I tug on her arm, escorting her father down the hall. Then turn a corner and another, leading her away from the room I've reserved. It's been months…years since I was back down this corridor. Instead of relying on routine, I turn the tables on my fucked up plan and ask, "What is that you want? For both of us?"

She blinks at me in surprise and takes a second to consider what I just asked and it's this side of her that nicks my confidence. Her quiet composure—so polar to how she is…was a couple of moments ago, on stage sucking me off. Clearly, we're both in some quandary with the boundaries shifting fast.

"So we're both doing something new. Exotic. I've never done anything this wild. This out of the box, but with you…it's feels so fantastic to transform into this person who doesn't give a shit about anyone else in the room. I want that all the time."

Fuck. I inhale and drop my gaze, flailing mentally at her admission. My eyes trace up her neck to a spot I've sucked. Left my mark. Her pale smooth skin is silk and I watch as her pulse thrums, holding back from touching, squeezing the spot.

"I can deliver that. If you implicitly trust me." I'm lying through my teeth…but what she doesn't know…I can use to give her what she desire. Test her boundaries with a net in place.

"You have to ask?" She touches my arm, releasing a charge that scatters across my skin.

"Apparently," I mutter, but say nothing more that will get me into deeper trouble.

"From this point on, you do exactly as I say or you'll suffer the consequences," I retort, coming to the doorway that's locked. No security outside. This section of the club is devoid of voices for now. In seconds, that won't be the case. I press my thumb to the security pad, until a green light flashes. Opening the door, I usher her forward, ignoring the haunting desperation that clouds my vision as people congregate at the end of the hall.

Jax appears, he whistles low.

"Stay put," I command Anastasia as she enters.

I step back into the hall, directing my focus to Jax. Our gazes lock, a question clearly on his lips. I nod, then shake my head once. I can see him sigh heavily as he says something to Gabriel. My other partner's head snaps up and he turns to stare down the hall. He smirks, flashes me a bird, but laughs. They've got fires to put out with this move I just made. Closing the door, I lock the deadbolt, and key in a code, dismantling the security pad from being overridden.

"This way," I state, taking Anastasia by her slender arm.

**I SEEK...**

**ANASTASIA STEELE**

I FOLLOW within the private hall. At the end, the lights are dimmer and the doorway comes into view. Christian unlocks the door, shuttles me inside, but there's a commotion from where we came. "Is everything all right?" I ask and he arches a brow in response.

"Care to reframe that one?"

"Master…" I stall, then shake my head. _Trust me_. A question or a declaration. I say I do to him, yet clearly I don't with these questions that crop up and then out my mouth without censor.

I grimace, refraining from posing a hundred and one questions that flash through my mind. I watch him as he picks up a lighter and proceeds to light a candle, then another and another. I inhale, relaxing if that's possible with the thought of the members who are most likely gathering…I train my gaze around the room, searching for a viewing window.

This room is open on one side, decorated as a bedroom. The other is a sitting area with a sofa, wet bar, and several tables. Without question, the interior is opulently appointed within a dark, earthy schemata. Sandalwood scents. Plush velvets. Sumptuous silks. Everything is meant to appeal to the senses. Unlike the rest of the club which is ultramodern in chrome, glass, and black leather furniture. Inside this room there's a large four-poster bed that takes up one side of the space. The bed is dressed with dark silk sheets and a luxurious comforter, reminding me a room I might own except I'd have tons of pillows on the bed. There are bolsters in place, and then my focus zeroes in on the eyehooks on the bedposts near the bottom that peak out and glimmer.

Candles are now lit, casting a warm glow and the flickering shadows play across Christian's features and on the metallic surfaces that catch and cast the candlelight. Oodles and oodles of flickering flames and they're reflected in his eyes as he stands in front of me and unties the cords to the silk cape I wear. I lean into his warm palms gliding over my shoulders as the burgundy cape opens and he lets go. Weighty yet billowing material falling mid-calf, folds down my body, pooling at my feet. I'm naked except for my shoes, mask, and wig—open to him and now to others watching us. I shiver, yet notch up my chin, refusing to think of anyone besides the man in front of me.

"Do you recall disappearing on me?" He tips up my chin, and I feel the skin over my body tingle.

"Yes, Master," I say.

"See that?" He directs my attention off to the side. There's a bench—padded leather with restraints for what looked like legs and on the other side wrists. "I want you open to me. All mine without reservation."

_Isn't that what I've been all this time?_ Perhaps he doesn't know how deep his effect goes and as I stare up into his face, I want to tell him. I am. I nod.

He's wearing leathers and without a shirt, his corrugated abs flex as he pulls me to him. Naked I can't help but arch my neck as he skims his fingers over my hips and lower. "You waxed," he whispers as the space between my legs aches from his words.

"Your direction."

"Then you reap the reward." The whisper of a promise that he'll suck my clit until I'm half-crazed—if I submit to him—sends a current of electrical anticipation through my body. I've had the pleasure of lying across his lap and my rear end is still stripped by his belt and his hand.

I feel the unmistakable graze of his cock housed inside the butter soft leather pants he's wearing. "Please, sir."

"No fear, sub. I fully intend on licking you from one side to the other, especially your beautiful cunt."

"I-I-…" I shift my gaze as if searching for words—the viewing window—how to conceptualize what I'm feeling, but he cups my chin, forcing my focus back to him.

"All you seek is right here. Between us. Within us. Don't let your attention detour. Focus on me, Anastasia."

His words, the tone of his authoritative voice, land like a weighted mantle over me and I shudder, thinking how can I be so oblivious to those you watch us, but with his eyes on me…I am impervious. Ah, this irony isn't lost on me. This lesson in how to find myself—I must be willing to lose…myself. Seek from within what I believe missing.

Leading me toward the bench, he bows my body over the padded surface, securing my wrists and ankles in leather restraints. He lifts a thin reed. "This is a cane," he states matter-of-factly and shows me the device. "Care to hold or touch it?"

I stare at it then up at him, biting my lip to stop my chin from quivering, pulling on my wrists as if to demonstrate I'm not exactly free to start an exculpatory exploration of his Dom tools of his trade that he intends to utilize for my benefit in lessons I require. "No thank you, Master."

"We begin," he says. "You'll count each time I strike you and you'll thank me. Understood?"

"Yes. Master."

"Before you decide to disappear, you consult me. Never run away again." Our eyes lock and it's as potent as a touch…as powerful as a kiss. And then he nods in mute satisfaction, and walks beyond my field of vision. I hear the swish and then feel the sting. A burning slice on one ass cheek. I tighten my fingers into balls and prepare for the next one.

"Did you forget something?" He walks to the side and lowers until our faces are eye level.

Shit! Shit. "One. Thank you, Master."

He brushes the hair out of my eyes. "That's perfect."

Again, he swats the thin wooden cane across my skin and I reply, my voice rips from my mouth as the pain expands from a slice to a full-blown fire. "Two. Thank. You. Master"

He grunts and unleashes on my ass cheeks, landing rapid-fire swats from one side to the other. I count and thank him. Over and over. Each swish in the air and I'm tensing. My arms, back, stomach, and down my legs are getting a workout.

Again, he lands the tip on my cheek, "Fifteen, thank you…Master."

"You're doing so well," he says, pausing and running his palm along my enflamed skin over my bottom.

All too soon, he stops and resumes his position, and smacks my ass. The muscles over my shoulders tense and then I stiffen my arms, refusing to jerk my wrists. That would be senseless—as show a weakness. I'm not going anywhere. Again…so many times, he lowers his arm and the cane meets my skin until my brain buzzes—lost in sensation overload. "Twenty-two," I whisper. "Thank you, Master."

Then in a haze, he repeats tanning my ass cheeks as I rattle off numbers, thanking him, and vowing I will not cry out or beg him for less. Not when others are watching. I can only imagine what is believed when a Dom's submissive is whining and crying…not good. For him, I stay strong as prickling sweat erupts over my skin. Except another smack lands, imparting fire to my bottom, and I'm so near…so near to… _Breaking?_

"Well?" he asks in low, deep voice. "Or should we start from scratch?"

I bite my bottom lip harder this time as my muscles tremble. I force myself to breathe. A slow steady inhalation. My mind tumbles, twists for a second. "Thirty-three. Thank you, Master," I growl out. Not exactly composed, but neither am I crying, or worse begging him to stop, which a huge part of me is oh so ready to do…if we weren't in a room with a view!

He stops, his hands rub across my ass cheeks then spread me and he holds me open. I feel his fingers travel lower, splaying my lips apart as he dips his finger inside me in one rough slide as his legs press flush behind me. "You're wet. God. So wet, sub."

"Please," I hiss the word between my lips.

"Soon," he promises in his gravelly voice. "Soon, I'll give you your reward."

He pumps his finger inside me, then two until I'm at the edge and a golden glow magnifies and consumes me. His fingers curl and find the exact spot to drive me wild. His thrusts consume, each pump is as fiery as the flick of a cane across my skin. I arch my hips without thinking. He's got what I need. He withdraws his fingers and resumes laying the cane across my bottom.

Only now, I'm flayed from the inside out and I want him to force me to the edge. Every slice of a swat is a step closer. I count. Thank him. And he smacks me again. Another five ensue and the doorway bursts open. I'm coming undone and I can't explain it other than he's doing it again. Caning me and crafting a mind-obliterating orgasm that builds and builds.

When I formulate my reply: "Forty. Thank you. Master." the words flow, on a rasp lower than a whisper, yet remain caught in my mouth with the emotions I fear I'll shout in front of a room of people I know exist yet cannot see. These emotions, he crafts must remain as unseen the people out in hall, and I swallow, biting back what I long to tell him…I'm open. He's invading my senses. My cells. I'm his. All. The. Way.

He places the cane on the table off to the side, and leans over me, pressing himself against my ass. His cock is out, nudging my entrance. The heat spreads from my cheeks into him and I whimper, trying to widen my stance. Our bodies meld, he breaches my folds and pummels his cock inside me. His thrusts are hard, dominating and he wraps his hands over my hips, whispering my pet name. "X," then hisses out, "Ssss."

He forces me to take all of him, slamming into me as I silently beg him to fuck me roughly. "Please, master."

"That's it. Fuck. This feels so fucking good," he whispers near my ear.

I feel the slide of his fingers around my neck, press and tighten. Oh god. The room dims as he pounds his cock into and I start to scream his name. He lets go his hold on my neck as he covers my mouth with his palm, preventing me from screaming his name. He fucks me and holds me silent. I'm spent from delicious dark pleasure raining down. He releases his hold on my face and shifts his hands to my hips, pounding his cock inside me, grinding and then he shudders.

His body is rigid over me for a second. Then I hear him grunt low…my initials as he blankets his chest over my back. His hands rub down my arm, to my wrist. Freeing one then the other. He rubs his hands over the marks, red and the flesh on my hands is numb. I tingle as he touches me, kisses my shoulder. My neck. Me.

Christian glides his torso over my body and his fingers unbuckle the restraints at my ankles. I try to lift but he stops me. "I need to take care of you."

He picks a bottle from the shelf and squeezes a stream of clear liquid onto his palm. He rubs his large palms together and walks behind me. He places his hands on my bottom, and I exhale. The liquid on his palms cools my scorched skin. His hands massage my cheeks and the scent of mint fills the air. Again, he squeezes the bottle and again he massages my bottom, splaying open my ass cheeks, and unleashing a masculine grunt of appreciation. "Beautiful."

"May I get up, Sir?" My legs are loose and I wobble, until he lifts me up into his arms.

"I've got you." His mouth glazes over mine.

"Please. I want more," I whisper and then his slide of a kiss deepens as he lays me down on the bed.

He takes my face in his hands, and deepens our kiss further torqueing his tongue. He licks, sucks, and bites my lips with a few sharp nips. He holds me steady, tipping up my face and our eyes connect. His smoky. Intense. And it's like I'm staring into a blazing fire as he gazes down at me. He rises and I reach out to him, but he too quick and steps back. My gaze traces a path down his body, focusing on the outline of his cock inside his leathers and he follows my eyes, rubbing his palm down his cock once. Then again. "What are you thinking?"

Without a shirt, his corded muscles are a play of shadow and light and if I could reach him, I'd pull him down onto the bed. Undo his zipper and ride him with my head thrown back.

"Sir, I want to ride you."

He's got a bottle of Scotch and pours a liberal finger or three into a glass. He walks to the side of the bed, and holds out the glass to my lips, tipping it until the liquor wets my lips and flows into my mouth.

"Oh you do…do you," he replies. "Even after I just disciplined and fucked you."

He lifts the glass and downs a sip. With his fly open, the place where his happy trail disappears teases me mercilessly. When he'd held my head, thrusting his cock down my throat, forcing me to take all of him, I'd gotten a close-up view of his cock. The strange scars along his groin that match the ones on his arms. The ones he says were from an uncle who in a drug-crazed state abducted him when he was four and did things. Weeks in December when other children were wishing for Santa, what was his life like? Christ, I can't believe his father didn't go after that bastard and kill him. Or his mother. I would have. I feel so protective of Christian, and yet, here we are. Putting ourselves out in the open so we can keep our secret.

So many secrets.

Which ones are real?

I don't know. Right now, isn't the time to decide. I refocus on Christian. He's the only person who matters. "I'm not the only person who…groomed," I say.

Setting down the glass, he pulls his boots off, then lowers his leathers, peeling them off his mind-blowing body. Now freed, his hard-on juts outward—thick. Long. And ready to resume our borderline savage fucking…again with people watching. He picks up a filmy piece of material—a scarf. My heart pounds on the other side of my ribcage and I'm gasping in need as he winds the silk around my wrists He smooths his hand over my body and reaches for the glass of Scotch.

"Don't move…or I'll take you back to the bench. Next time, I'll use a whip on your perfect ass. Understand?"

"Yes, Sir." I fold my arms up along my chest and slowly, carefully he drips the liquor over my stomach. His cock judders, and crystal clear droplets release from the slit at the top of his crown. God, I want to suck his cock and I tremble as saliva rushes into my mouth.

He tosses back the rest of his drink, then lowers his body, wedging his broad shoulders between my legs. Splaying open my lips, he presses his mouth to my pussy and I clench. Every muscle in my body tightens as I long to cry out and buck my hips in need of more. Arduously, he licks a path up my seam which is waxed smooth and doesn't stop until he sucking the Scotch from my navel. He swirls his tongue within my bellybutton and thrusts a finger into my pussy. A thousand emotions ignite as he pumps his finger and sucks on my skin. I'm coming—unable to stop. "Please," I plead and he laughs, the sound a warm vibration spreading like a seismic whisper across my skin.

"Come for me."

He spreads my legs apart, ghosting his lips across my abdomen, over my mound, and then he spears me with his tongue, I cry out. "Sir!"

Over and over, he sucks on my flesh as I release and curl my fingers, giving in to the feeling of falling. He moves to the bed, then he's next to me, lifting me up as he lies down.

"Now, you're ready to ride me, baby," he says.

I straddle him as he grasps his cock, swiping the broad head against my sensitive sleek flesh and the massive shiver I'd been holding back since he climbed onto this bed, overcomes me and my muscles quiver. "God. That feels…soooo good."

Even with my wrists bound, this doesn't seem like he's some overbearing Dom. This feels like it's just him and me and we're in bed. Haphazardly, I plant my palms on his chest as he guides himself inside me. My body is loose and relaxed and he's not rough or savage—he's gentle and I feel every centimeter of him as he pumps his cock deeper inside me. The pleasure swells as he thrusts fully into me, his hands gripping my hips and hauling me slightly upward and then rapidly down as he impales me. I rock on top of him, rolling my hips moving from slow and measured… to hard and fast. Christian guides me, grinding into me as his muscles carve into rigid bands over his shoulders, down his arms. "That's it. Little. Sub!"

We're moving in a sensual rhythm and it's like my wish to ride him. Unrestrained and yeah, I'm wild in how I ride his cock. His hands trace up my sides, capture my breasts, and he strums my nipples. Each swipe of his fingers coincides with his thrusts. I can't contain the sensation of bliss swelling inside my body. I arch my neck, and the pleasure coiled within me, explodes. "Sir!" I yell.

He grabs my hips and without warning tips me over. Still connected, his cock inside me, he switches to a commanding position over me. He lifts my calves over his shoulders, slamming deep into me. With his arms caging me, he pounds his hips between my legs, reaching for the headboard with one hand as he power slams deeper inside me, hitting my G-spot over and over. "You need to be fucked…like this. Every night. By me. Only me."

Our gazes lock. His eyes are as intense of his slams. Harder and deeper he forges his presence inside me until I'm powerless to stop from semi-screaming his name. I'm imperfect at submission but does it matter? He's inside me as he desires and I'm clinging to him as another delicious orgasm unleashes and bliss shatters into a million sparks, each one tinged with erotic ecstasy that race through me—all at once.

He lowers his head, uniting our mouths as he flexes his torso. He pounds harder, farther into me until his muscles constrict into tight cords. I trace my fingers down the contours of his granite arms as he pummels into me and shudders. "Baby," he rasps softly into my mouth as he releases deep deep inside me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~MUCH MORE TO COME.

Some of you will be collecting and examining the clues that have been spread throughout this story. Some readers won't be able to take what transpires at the House, but hopefully if you're here, you trust me to keep these lovers safe. Yes the hero has a horrible history and you might have unearthed one of the clues, in how the hotel bar impacted him that first night. His reaction. Is that clear?

Now, it might seem like these have crossed to the dark side, and in many ways they have but not for the overt reasons that flash burn on the surface. Remember there are lies, secrets, smoke, and mirrors cast. What lies ahead pushes them over the edge. Right now they're acquiring the skills required to deal with disaster when it hits, tears their world apart, and I promise it's a twist you might not see coming. For all the breadcrumbs strewn, we haven't even gotten to the meat of this story. There's a tiger lurking near, but from which doorway will it arrive?

**Thank you for staying with these two lovers, and giving your trust in me not to derail you as a romance reader. Your comments, feedback, and support...messages truly help. A lot when it comes to this type of lover story. **

A note: this is not HEA (happy ever after) but that doesn't mean I'm throwing A and/or C under the bus. It means before they can fall in love, we're going to construct these two into soul mates. All too often love is an emotion that can be cast aside, broken, torn apart. Dark, twisted, torched also means forged, cast, recreated. And that's where we're headed.

All aboard.

Xo

This story required hours to prep. I've been up since 3 in the am with rewrites which isn't that strange considering the oddball hours I maintain as a writer. You voted and a promise is a promise.

Phew! Now, I need a rest. I've opened my heart and mind, pouring this out. This is my holiday gift to you. Albeit a dark one. But in order to appreciate the light, the love...this is part of these lovers' journey.

Stay well. Enjoy the season. I'm wishing you all peace. Happiness. And lots of love!

Be back soon with more.


	27. A PREMONITION Vetting 5 P1

**DARK. TWISTED. YEAH.**

The doorway to light, trippy FSOG is that way. Mmm. See the sparkly rainbows. Keep going.

Uh oh. I see you there. Didn't you hear the _warning_?

**STOP!**

From this point on, I suggest you listen to the sirens.

_This isn't for YOU_.

Again, the way to sweet, airy BDSM (oxymoron and absurd really but whatever) stories

is somewhere around the corner. Plenty of la-la-la FSOG is available. It's wonderful, invigorating, and like a fairy tale in nature. Disney for adults.

**BUT NOT THIS WAY.**

If there were a sign, it would be flickering, neon:

TURN BACK NOW!

Then another:

_**THIS WAY LEADS TO A DARK, DARK PASSAGE**_.

So we're here.

At the threshold, covered with vines. Thorns. Roses that bleed. _Drip. Drip. Drip warnings_.

On the other side of the doorway,

there's a flickering candle that casts a dim light. There are wild, wicked, sharp images that flash within this corridor.

Not your thing, then turn back now!

**Those who enter have been forewarned. **

It's not too late to leave.

Just open that door, then slam it shut. And never, never, never cross this threshold again.

The quasi quote from Seduced that Ana told her cousin: "Don't walk away mad. Just walk away."

**Still here. Welcome.**

Cue the music. _Alice in Chains. Man in the Box._

Time to enjoy the insanity!

Except…there's a paradox:

This section is GP rated.

**A PREMONITION**

Christian Grey

AFTER SEVEN hours at the House, Ana is upstairs in her apartment. A night of… Fuck, I scrub my hand down my face, struggling to classify what we did. Last night, I would have bet my left nut, my little intern would be nervous—Christ I was near to calling it off, seeing her kneel onstage as people around me clapped me on the back, asked if I'd share her, offered me obscene amounts of money, the unspoken wink and favor I'd be owed…all patently of no interest to me—but no. Anastasia was seamless in how she submitted to me.

Sitting inside my car, I study the shadows on the wall of her apartment. I know I should leave. Thirty minutes ago, blindfolding her and putting her in a privately driven vehicle, trusting a driver to drop her off—well fuck. I'm a schmuck. So shoot me. Following her here is breaking strategy with how we're supposed to conduct ourselves. Tell that to my dick. That hard as a lead pipe appendage of mine wants more of her. Seven hours of fucking and I'm ready for another round.

In nine hours, I'll pick her up and we'll head to the Vice President's for lunch. _Shit, Christian_. _You need to leave. Now, motherfucker! _My phone buzzes and I pick it up.

"Yeah?"

"Where in the hell are you?" Jax asks.

"On my way home. Why?" I reach for the ignition and turn the key. The engine purrs. I'm ready to shift gears on every level of existence.

"You've got a fan club congregating here."

I flash my gaze to my side view mirrors, checking out the street scene. "Sucks to be them."

"Seriously, Christian. They want in on what you and Ms. Excess offered up last night. Some serious money is on the table."

I'm not a piece of meat. After being abducted and held against my will, I close my eyes, refusing to revisit the shit I'd been through. "Fuck, when have I ever been for sale?"

"This is a one-time offer and shit! We could barter. Get our own security detail instead of being beholden to the brass."

"I wasn't the one who wanted the _eagle in our nest_. You've got stones for putting that on my head."

"Naw, I'm putting that on your dick, ballbuster," he roars but I'm not moved.

If anything I'm sickened but I don't let on. I've never let on but Jackson Carter found out the murky details of my fucked up history. I don't know how. There's no police record. My father made damn sure of that but somehow Jax has his ways as do I. We each specialize in obtaining enough intel on those near us to make sure no one ever talks. Probably why he and I are as close as two coats of paint at times.

"So far you're talking out your ass." I glance back up at Anastasia's apartment. The windows are dark and my heart pounds. She's in bed. Safe. Secure. Now, I can put my car into gear and leave.

"What you two did…I can't begin to relay the uproar you two have caused. Giving a taste on stage. I've never seen so many people put the fuck out. They were ready to storm the hall, demanding that the door be taken off its hinges."

"Good thing, that didn't happen," I retort dryly. My muscles tighten. This is the first time in the history of forever when a flickering of apprehension slithers across my awareness. Like a premonition of something horrible to come…and then it's gone.

"For the record, the move was pure genius in the aftermath. But, shit!" He laughs darkly. "Try telling that to Secret Service agents. Those cocksuckers are antsy to make a name for themselves. They're ready to lay their lives down. What's a door?"

My gut wrenches. Second time in less than two seconds. This is the proverbial snap—crackle—but no pop! Fuck me, I'm either whipped or…I make a mental note to hook up with Archer and see what kind of weaponry he can lay his hands on. What I'd think? That fucking a Steele would be commonplace. Most of her family walks around with their own security detail—why not her. I won't be the first congressman to be packing heat on the Hill—just the first with a concealed carry permit not for my benefit.

"Well, since we're talking record," I say, without laughing. Actually, the blood in my temples thuds. "I'll rescind our fearless leader's membership without thinking twice if he—or anyone—countermands my authority!"

"Only you have the balls to even consider that one."

"More than consider. I'm serious. Either we stand together on this one or we're all fucked. We're the owners of that club. Answer me honestly, Jax, whose order would you follow?" For once, I'm getting the distinct impression there's fissure that's more than a crack in our agreement on how to run the House. "Whose?" I repeat again, when he fails to outright answer.

"Shit," he says. "I won't dignify that question with an answer. What's going on with you? Maybe that's the real issue that needs to be addressed."

I clench my jaw. "Looks like we're both minus answers this morning."

He sighs heavy enough to make me aware we both pulled all-nighters. "Back to the business of the House. We may need to hire a scheduler."

"Come again?" So far, we have drivers, security, serving staff, grounds people, cleaning crews, an accountant, on call staging outfit, and a handful of consultants. Our computer system allows for members to conduct online scheduling. "What's wrong with how we do things?" I ask.

"Because we're booked. That room, the one at the end of the hall you just happened to use, is now booked solid. Before we couldn't give it away. We need to expand and yeah, I'm thinking wait staff for sure, and we need to think about onsite management."

"It sounds like the type of expansion that will bring the roof down on our heads."

"Christian, last night, the bartenders were overrun with drink requests. I had to pitch in. You weren't the only one called into service last night. All Dom's on deck, and we've never done that before. Every room sold out. And we're booked for the next month. At least."

Insofar as the House, what Anastasia and I did was tame compared to the realm of discipline and domination. With her back to the audience, and the way I held her face, yeah what the members glimpsed was damn tame. "Hell, we were off the books. They're reacting like we were in a dungeon. Just what has got the members going, other than they were uninvited to my private party? Is this because they didn't get a glimpse of my sub's body or me fucking?" I used to derive the means to escape on an adrenaline infused high as a hardcore Dom. It was the only reason why I agreed to being part owner of this club. The money is over-the-top, but the constant attention required is nowhere near compensation in terms of time and hassle, and now with Anastasia…I glance up at her apartment. Clearly, my focus is now elsewhere.

"You know how it goes. Tell a bunch of hardasses what they can't have and shit. That's all those dudes want."

"The haves and have nots," I snap.

"Don't get me started on the women members," he crows.

The pressure inside my head builds. I close my eyes, rubbing my fingers across my forehead. I've got to set him straight. "Don't book me for anything other than my sub. I'm back but my services are off the table."

"Fuck! Are you shitting me?"

Flashing open my eyes, I clench my jaw. "Look, you brought up the idea of expanding, so if we need to hire another Dom—"

"Shut up. I don't want to hear that noise. Aside from your personal history, Christian...what's the stumbling block here? One night back, and you're ready to step down? I put off the _eagle_ but he's requesting a special viewing."

"I take it you have no idea who Ms. Excess is…beyond the House."

Silence. A beat. Then another before Jax speaks. "If you mean she possess connections, is that anything new?"

"This time. Yes." I put my car into gear, check the street, and pull out. One last glance up to her windows as I roll past.

"Need I remind you about breaking the rules?" His voice lowers. "She's working for—"

"Don't say it," I growl. We're both aware that even though we switch cells every week, our lines aren't secured when we've got the leader of the free world as one of our unnamed members. "How far up the chain is this request…now a priority? I'm not an asshole, Jax. You're scrambling and this goes beyond a fucking payout or a security detail. Cocksucker, you of all of us have serious political aspirations."

"Well fuck! Christian you can't be the only goddamn Dom who's ably climbing the Whitehouse rungs…Mr. Vice President!"

I swallow and floor the gas as I turn the corner and head for my apartment, peeling out as my tires screech. Rocketing down the street, I race against my anger. Jax and I have butted heads in the past, but never this heated or either of us with a shorter than hell fuse. "Obviously," I say between my teeth, "We both have issues. What the fuck is it that you really want?"

"You really want to know?"

"Jesus! If you're playing games, how do you expect me to react?"

"Take my night."

"Your night…this Wednesday?" I'm stunned. Jax hasn't missed a night in two years. He flies back from wherever he's at and that in and of itself has set records. If he says he's going to do something, on his word—he does it. No one questions him—he's earned everyone's respect. Unlike me. I've bent the rules and now broken so many I'm the epitome of do as I say, not as I do.

"We're night and day," I reply, relaxing my jaw and easing my foot off the gas pedal before I get nailed for speeding. This is so fucked up and exactly how he and I relate at times. It's like he anticipates what's eating me and supplies a solution. Only this time, my hunger for more time with Ana—I'm not so certain that equates with more time at the House.

"Look, can we meet and discuss this?" That's code for doing this off the grid. He's got something up his Speaker of the House sleeve.

I want Ana and Jackson offering us another night…has me downshifting. "Name the time and place," I reply stoically.

"You're hosting a roundtable on Monday, so how about Tuesday? One o'clock. Let's do lunch. O'Malleys. Upstairs."

"I'll be there." Shit. We only do O'Malleys when things are truly fucked up. It's swept by the CIA twice a day, and the place where a handful of us actually are aware that's it's a safe spot to discuss business. The POTUS's top choice of where to eat lunch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ more to come.

Heard from folks about HEA.

Let's clarify. We know that HEA means HAPPY EVER AFTER. It's an ending. This is book two in a four book series. Long, long distance to travel for two people in lust to being in love. Somewhere along the journey, these lovers will fall in love. Just not right now. They won't die. They won't have affairs. They won't disappear never to return.

They will trip. They will suffer. They will pine, hunger, gnash their teeth. Yet during their journey, they'll also discover who they are in the midst of pain. How much of a challenge they can withstand if not conquer. And what it means to go from falling into bed, to falling head over heels in love with someone they can trust.

This story is twisted. It's dark. It's depraved in some ways. In a word, it's ugly.

It's savage.

It's cutting.

And it's mine.

Thanks for letting me share it with you.

Later.


	28. POP THE TRUNK Vetting 5 P2 P3

**ADULT CONTENT**

Vetting

Let's do this.

**_POP THE TRUNK_**

Christian Grey

I'M IN my car, yet unlike the other times, I'm not incognito. Nor am I hunkered down, across the street in stalking mode of my sub. It's Sunday afternoon, and I'm freshly showered, shaved, and parked in front of Ana's apartment entrance as the doorman tips his hat. She exits the building and that ever present twinge in my chest, sparks. I open my car door and walk around to meet her. Our gazes fuse, and I remind myself to shut my mouth that feels as though it just hit the sidewalk.

"Nice ride," she says, eyeing my car. "Suits you."

"It'll do," I reply, catching her door and smiling down into her face. She sashays next to me, not touching me, but close enough to give me a whiff of her now familiar fragrance that acts like a magnet to my senses—pulling, drawing me to her. I grip the door—if I don't I'm going to haul her next to me and kiss her in a manner I'm certain will have her branded by her apartment staff. "You're beautiful," I say softly and she is…achingly so.

Dressed in some white lacey summer dress that ends at the top of her knees, she has her hair up, and the tiny bows at each of her shoulders, practically beg to be untied. "Thanks. You're rather nice looking yourself, Senator."

"I want to…" I stare at her mouth and she lightly snaps her fingers, her lips curling provocatively.

"Up here! Didn't you get your fill last night?" She arches a perfectly sculpted brow, and I growl, frowning.

"Not even close. We need to talk." When I take hold of her elbow, pressing my fingers along her skin; we both exhale and our gazes reconnect. All at once, a charge of electricity courses through my veins, discharging my hunger for her. Yet like a spring that is set free, my need for her fails to disperse. Fails to run dry. I'm turning into a black hole where she's concerned.

I crave her now.

Naked.

Under me.

After last night, fuck I don't know—it's like I'm crazed. The more we push boundaries, the more a voice in the back of my mind demands that I find where our boundaries lay. In truth, standing next to her in the sunlight today, I fear none exist. I'll give her anything she asks for. The distance I'll go for her—yeah, I'm beginning to understand it's incomprehensible.

Helping her into the front seat, I estimate how much time we have before we're officially late in getting to the Naval Observatory.

Anastasia glances up into my face. "You say that…a lot."

"Because we're complicated," I retort, releasing her arm and closing her door.

I decide against putting on my sunglasses. I want to see her unobstructed, and I imagine after what I'm about to relay, she'd appreciate me not hiding behind a pair of shades. Jax's offer had me up for hours. It's the only way I can deal with my hunger for Anastasia and remain sane. Us having unbridled sex in my office will get both of us on a list of Capitol fuck-ups faster than if I snorted a line of blow in the Oval Office. Every media hound is on the lookout for a congressman doing something stupid. It goes with the turf. Rule number one: don't take bribes…and get caught. Rule number two: don't get caught with your dick out of your pants. It doesn't matter if it's your wife, your mistress, or your intern. Fold it. And hold it.

Sliding behind the wheel, I meet her gaze. "Here," she says, holding out an envelope, not unlike the first time she held out one to me just days ago. Christ, the bridge we've erected and traveled—it feels like we've known each other forever. "The House forms. All signed. Thanks for giving me time to think. I'm in. Safe word and all."

"Member two hundred and eleven," I reply. "Did you ever imagine that kiss in the club…would result in us together?"

"Well after last night?" She laughs. "I take it, everything you've said so far has something to do with us…last night. What happened?"

"Pretty slick, aren't you?" I stow the envelope between my seat and the console, then put the car into gear and take the third right after the block her building occupies, and pull over.

"Is it that serious?" Her eyes widen. Blue crystal.

The bluest eyes I've ever seen and I lean over the console. "Need something," I say, reaching my hand out to thread my fingers to the back of her head. I draw her closer until we're a hairsbreadth apart. "Tell me your safe word. Then kiss me."

"Orion," she whispers softly.

"Like the constellation?" I ask.

"Like the hunter." Her eyelids flutter, and under my thumb her vein pulses against my skin.

I need her. Want her. Can't wait to take us over the edge again like what I did to her in Boston. "Give yourself to me, little sub."

A tiny puff of air escapes her mouth, but without missing a beat, she leans and our lips meet. I let her take the lead, waiting and when she slides her tongue across mine, I press forward. She sweeps her piercing along my tongue, teases my lips. I remind myself, let her show me if she's ready. She returns to pumping her tongue into my mouth as she shifts in her seat. Anastasia leans over the console farther as I incrementally pull back.

She's unrifled; her hands mold along by jaw, draw me to her. I relish how she owns my mouth and I purposely refrain from yanking her hair undone. She uses her tongue in fucking my mouth, and I want more. I want her to learn how to be assertive if not downright aggressive. This is so screwed up.

Never. Never. Never have I allowed a woman to take the lead. I drop my hands, floored at how good this feels to have her pushing me back into my seat, biting my lips, and calling the shots in our first of this kind of kiss—I'm cracking open the door. And she comes right through, proving that I'm spot on in discovering her potential. The distance that we'll travel if I'm right, will be exponential.

She pulls apart from me and stares intensely. "Did I do something wrong?"

"In a word: no!" I laugh out my response, biting my tongue to keep from admitting what I have in mind. She'll bolt out of this car, down the block, if I don't carefully consider how to broach the subject of so many things we need to discuss. The list is getting longer and longer. Every day, there's something else to add. This girl fills me with questions after question.

"Then why did you stop touching me?" she asks, her eyes wide. Unguarded.

Of course she'd notice and I rake my fingers through my hair. Can I be honest with her—let her into my future? She'll have to know about my past. All of it. My fucked up family. My not so stellar connections I've buried. Erased the doorway from which I've come.

I clench my jaw. She already knows about my uncle—a little of that nightmare, and what I've shared is more than anyone else knows beyond Jax. The reason why I've held back from outright accepting the Veep's offer. I won't have my personal history used as a sound bite. Hell no!

"Baby, I'm steeling my reaction to what I want to do." Her eyes flash to the bulge in my jeans. I press the heel of my palm down the outline of my hard-on. "Anastasia. I want to be buried inside you. This is torture."

"What do you suggest?" She leans closer to me, draping her arms over the console. That move forces her tits to press together, giving me a spectacular view of her cleavage.

Trailing my fingers along the edge of her neckline, I serve up what's on my mind. "What would say to us going to the House twice a week?"

"Is that possible?" She wets her lips, her eyes darken. "How?"

She's priceless and hungry and perfect. "Wednesday night. Jax offered me his spot. Seems like we're a hot commodity."

"I'm not going to lie. I liked what we did. A lot. I feel empowered. Is that crazy to believe? We were being watched and for once, I didn't care."

She has no idea that we were in a private room. Secluded. The next time, that room from what Jax said won't be available. Right now, I'm not sure how I feel about sharing one single hair on this girl's head. I doubt I could share fucking her in front of anyone. Ever.

"Your idea that this is your path to self-control isn't off the mark. Plenty of people utilize various methods of desensitization. There are no judgments at the House. I can't promise, but from what I know, your target and your course might very well intersect. I don't know if your quest to tone down your affect is what you need. That's the quandary." I'm feeding her desire for self-control by limiting her focus to me. What the fuck will she do when she learns, beyond the stage, it was only us. I doubt she'll buy my refusal to share her as some placebo I planned. She'll get I'm a greedy, possessive prick.

Either I put up or shut up!

"Well, it feels good. Too good to not want more."

"Then that's a yes," I raise my hand, sweeping my fingers along her cheek.

"Why are we a hot commodity? Correct me if I'm wrong…but we didn't do anything outlandish."

Slowly, I turn in my seat. This is the moment of truth. All I have to do is admit what I'm feeling. I grip the steering wheel, almost wishing she'd say 'no' and refuse this moronic offer I just shared. "My thoughts exactly…but you do understand what happened last night isn't the norm. I didn't strip you bare on stage and give those present the opportunity to bid on sampling you. That's the norm and well… shit. Look, I pushed aside another rule, if not downright trounced it and the backlash has caught fire."

"But you didn't break the rule. Did you?" She touches her fingers to my wrist, and winks . "I heard the conversation, Esquire Grey. How you used a little known loop hole."

I glance down. She's so goddamn smart. "Yeah. Well, fuck 'em if they can't take a joke." Now would be the time for me to come clean. Or… I'd better sac up and get ready to fuck her within a privately screened—elite screening. The sound of the leather scrunching under my hands, fills the car. I want her and, hell, it's true. I'll give her anything she asks for—except sharing her.

"What aren't you telling me?" Her voice comes out hoarse, and I turn to meet her crystal blue stare. "Smoke. Mirrors. Don't do that with me, unless you'd like the same treatment."

Gazing into her eyes, I go for a white lie…just until I can figure out what the hell Jax is up to and how to deal with my over the top need to possess her. On the first of NEVER is when I'd let anyone else touch her, yet I'd be an idiot to believe she's immune from hearing, or encountering the bylaws in snatches of conversation. As my submissive, she'll be able to access other parts of the club like the main room and bar area, and I need to let her know what I'm currently dealing with.

"Usually there's a House rule which is why we get a hell of crowd during a submissive auction. After the Dom claims his sub, he allows another member to sample her in his presence. The sub must do as the Dom dictates. It's an authority kind of thing."

"To prove she's under his command?" Her eyelashes flutter and I mentally kick myself, yet continue.

"Exactly. And if she fails, that member can sample her again…and again until she obeys her Dom to the letter. With you, I bought some time with a little known bylaw which states I can affect my right to train you for up to ninety days, and then allow a member to sample you."

I watch as Anastasia's face blanches, then her pale cheeks turn bright red. Her eyes widen. "How could you? You promised…me to another member!" She lifts her hand and I catch her wrist before she can slap me across the face. She comes at me with her other hand, and I curl my fingers around both of her wrists, forcing her to be still. I deserve to have my face slapped, but she needs to hear me out.

Holding onto her wrists, I refuse to let go. "Do you honestly think that I'd ever let another man…or woman touch you?"

She's panting as she stares up at me. Her pupils are immense and then her lids flutter, her brow creases, and she shakes her head. "Never in a million years."

"That's fucking right," I growl. "Never. You're mine."

"What's the plan?" she whispers.

"That's what I'm working on now. Give me time to lay out the steps. You have my word, I'll run it by you before I commit us." I kiss her palm, protracted as I inhale her fragrance and savor the taste and texture of her skin against my lips.

I feel her trembling and I watch her, waiting. "Okay. I can live with that. I trust you. But what are we going to do about your…situation?" She shifts her gaze down to my bulge and rolls her lip between her teeth.

Holy fuck, the hunger of wanting her hits me like a thunderbolt.

I shift in my seat, splaying open my legs, and move her palm to my hard-on. "This situation is evidence of me needing more. I want to fuck you every which way known and unknown. We've got to deal with our mutual nuclear fusion attraction. The club. The airport. The office. Here on the street. My hunger for you isn't diminishing—if anything it's getting harder to ignore."

"And another night will help?" She presses the heel of her palm against my jeans and the muscles over my torso lock.

Pressing into her palm, I'm near to jetting. If we were vanilla, it wouldn't be that hard to agree to no sex at work or in public."

"Yeah, I get what we did on Friday was dangerous. It's like our self-control evaporates whenever we come together." She strokes her hand against me harder, faster.

"We can't get caught having sex at work. Ever." I'm so close to unzipping my fly, freeing my cock, and jerking off—in public! "What we do is safe as long as we contain it at the House. I'm working on getting a second night for us as in a regular spot."

"So two nights? That's it?" she asks, running the tips of her fingernails over my crown. The feel of her nails scratching along the outline of my cock has me near to the edge. "Tell me," she demands when I don't answer at first.

"Considering that I'll fuck you non-stop for a whole night, you might need the time to recuperate. Hell, I know I might—this is about the type of fucking we do…not the vanilla dating the Veep is seeking to spin." Who in the hell am I kidding. If I get her alone in my apartment, I'll fuck her so hard, my neighbors will be well acquainted with my first name night after night…morning…every time she's over. I squeeze her fingers and with my other hand, I cup the back of her head roughly. "I want you. All. The. Time."

"Like now?"

I'm a click away from coming. "I need you."

"We're headed for lunch…a meeting with the Vice President. Don't you dare ruin my hair."

"I hear it's being served in the garden," I say drawing her mouth to me.

She pulls back. "What does that have to do with the color of milk?

Laughing, I widen my eyes as we faceoff. "It'll be okay if you hair is a little wild."

"That's only because you want to pull it."

"Yeah. And?"

"We can't do it in your car and on a busy street." She flashes me a look of disbelief tinged with defiance.

I peer into my rearview mirror. My cock is rebar and I want to come inside her. "Parking lot. Underground."

"You can't be serious?"

"We can, and you will submit to me. You're mine. All the time, Ana. And I will have you. Question is when are you going to get that message. Right now, I'll use the House to discipline you for contradicting me…but if I need to…I'll find another place where I can make you understand. Is that what you want? I'll phone a realtor and we'll start looking today. If not, I'll build you a house. Anything you want!"

She stares back at me. "That's a loaded question."

Fuck me flying backward. I crush my mouth to hers, coasting my lips over lips, and then savagely kiss her into submission. This is what I want from her and what I'll teach her to do to me. She's going to learn to hold her ground and bend. A contradiction in terms and perfect for who we are together and apart. We're going so much farther than me exerting my will on her. I want to feel the bite of her edge. Stinging and flaying me open until I'm purged and free.

AND THERE WENT THE FLOOR

Anastasia Steele

I DON'T know what to make of what Christian's proposing. It's true. We can't mess around at work…or in public, and after Friday, I was going to talk to him. He's a mystery sometimes—a puzzle. Conundrum in how I believe he'll react and then he changes it up. Shows me a hidden facet to his personality and I'm stunned. Jaw drop. That's me.

He lets go of my hand, shifting the car into gear, and I reach and remove my panties. Christian does a double take. "Good thinking." He bends forward, and opens his glove compartment. "Here, I went shopping with you in mind. When we stop, I'm going to insert this into your beautiful ass. To prepare you for Wednesday."

"What…is it?"

"One way to find out. Open the bag," he whispers and winks.

Inside the unmarked bag, I see a bottle of lube and a bullet-shaped… "This is a strange dildo."

"It's a plug. For your rear. I'm going to fuck your ass. The other time, I only inserted my crown. You've never had your ass spanked and fucked. Have you?"

"Besides you. No one has manhandled my ass and I already admitted that, no. You're the first guy to do that. Why…have you, Senator?" I ask flippantly and he curls his fingers over the leather grip on my steering wheel, squeezing tight without answering. My stomach twists. Fuck, why did I say that? "I'm so so…sorry, Christian," I whisper, blinking the stinging from eyes.

"Baby," he exhales, flashing his steely focus to me. "Don't apologize. And to answer your question. I've never had a lover manhandle my ass."

I try to smile but my lips quiver. I need a sign that reads, biggest loser ever! "Yeah. I get that about you. You're a Dom."

"There's a crossover you know. Between a dominate and a submissive. A place to decide if you're really one or the other."

I stare for a beat. "What's that?"

"A switch. Is that something you'd like to do?" He trains his smoky eyes on me—intense as ever—and I grip the arm rest as a ripple of lust coils low in my belly.

He's got to be joking, yet strangely I'm not protesting. I shift my focus forward. I can't imagine me, with a cane, and then I stop.

Damn, I've never thought about how it would be for me to hold and command a whip…a belt. A paddle. And for an undivided second, I imagine our points on a continuum and I'm the one who commands him. Bind him. And the thought expands, I shift in my seat, between my legs gets wet thinking of what it'd be like to go beyond raking my nails down his skin to doing other things. Definitely not full on whipping…but something to make him so crazy. The shade of undone he casts over me. Can I be honest or would that be a turnoff to someone so dominating? Basically I'm usurping his authority…aren't I?

I return my attention to him. Meeting his gaze, I dial down my emotions. "Uh. I've never considered what that'd be like."

"Hotter than Georgia asphalt in the summer for some people. Would you like for _us_ to explore that sometime." He laughs in reaction to my open-mouthed expression.

I glance down at my hand and then hold up the plug. "I can't imagine fucking you ass."

Christian shakes his head. "Good thing. Neither can I. Ever. Yet there are other ways to assert control. I'm the only one who gets to fuck with a dick. But you do seem to enjoy control. Why not see where that leads."

"With you?"

"Only with me," he replies darkly as he turns into a parking lot. He takes a magnetized key card from behind his visor and flashes it across the reader. It's Sunday and there are just a few cars inside this lot.

"Where is this place?" I ask, more focused on the here and now. "Not that I don't fully intend to circle back to what you mean by me asserting my control over you."

"Baby, let's deal with that one now. I emphatically want you to think about what I'm proposing. I've never entertained something like this before, but I'm all for training you from the feet up to reach potential. You want me to teach you how to develop, this might be a better match than seeking to have sex in front of an audience. I understand you want to master your self-control. Don't you?"

I inhale. He's right. At first it seemed like a self-control issue but really it's much more. This is about finding out who I am beyond the box I'm hiding within. "Of course," I reply, gazing back into his flinty eyes. "I want that more than anything."

"We're only bouncing around ideas. Trust me to find the right one to fit. Us." He drives to a lower floor and puts the car in reverse, grabbing the back of the neck rest behind my head. "Let's not stop at your preconceived boundaries. Promise me, always an open mind."

"Is that how you'll get me to open my legs?"

He parks and trains his focus on me. "Maybe I want you to open your heart as well."

Well, that shut me up. I glance around in the deserted basement parking, afraid to comment on what he's just said. "You were saying about this building."

"Let me get your door. Stay put." He squeezes his fingers over my knee, then takes the plug and deposits it back into the bag.

He's out his side of the car with the bag in his hand, and comes around, opening my door and reaches down for my hand. Lifting me up, he guides me to his trunk.

"We're going to fuck. Here?"

"Trust me," he whispers, unbuckling his zipper and freeing his cock. "This car is squeaky clean so you won't get dirty. Turn around."

I must be crazy but I do as I'm told. After setting bag on the shiny surface of his trunk, he leans over me, taking my hands and planting my palms on the trunk of his car. This is so reminiscent of us in that dance club, and I glance over his shoulder. "Unfinished business?"

"You can't imagine how many times I've relived this moment." A muscle in his jaw clicks. He takes hold of the hem of my dress with one hand while the other touches my shoulder, guiding me forward. "Widen your stance, little sub, and bend."

Off to the side of my head, I watch as he opens the bag and removes the bottle. He squeezes and I anticipate the feel of liquid between the cleft of my ass. I bow as he splays open my cheeks and it's his cock that I feel nudging inside my pussy, then forget waiting. He grips my hips and rams himself to the hilt inside me as I arch upward, more in surprise than real pain. My hips knock against the edge of his trunk. The sting of him, stretching my folds gives way to keening pleasure that runs rampant, hotter than liquid fire through my body.

The surface of metal, smooth and cold under my fingers isn't what I desire. I want warm and supple, the contours of muscle and bone and man. I whimper and reach down, stroking my clit.

Without waiting, he lifts my hand away, and I snarl. "No!"

"No?" he asks incredulously and _smack! _He spanks my bottom, the echo of pain floods my senses. "If you don't want to end up on your knees in front of me as I give you're an impromptu lesson in obedience, I suggest you follow my directions, Ms. Steele. Now, obey me and lean the fuck forward."

"Bite me," I reply, unable to curb the barbed words that fly off my tongue.

"As you wish!" he growls as though he's been waiting for the invitation. He withdraws his cock from me, leans down, and bites one of my ass cheeks.

The pain radiates from the point of his mouth on my skin, and I try to spin around but he holds me still. If I make the mistake of slapping him, he has the propensity slap right back. That I know and I've already tested him once today. The fire ignited in my blood is a blazing inferno inside my veins, and I squeeze my muscles until I'm trembling.

I want to fight him and climb on top of him. "No!"

"You need more?" He stands, grazing his body up mine, then lifts my hips, moving me over the narrow confines of his car. He holds me down and manages to get in between my legs as I flail arms, legs, fingers.

"Maybe you do!"

"Stop. Anastasia. Or I swear to God, I'll take you back to my place and blow off this meeting. I'll fuck you so hard and for so long, by God, you'll learn who the hell is top!"

I'm panting and he yanks my hair. "Oh! Why do you have to be such a prick?"

"I want us to come together, baby. Unravel together."

Shit. He had to go and say that of all things. I take an erratic breath, then I feel him separate my legs, his cock grazes my entrance, and I'm lost to wanting too much. My rage turns ravenous and I arch like a cat seeking relief. He impales himself into me, locking his arm around my shoulder as he pounds his hips against me ass. He's right; I don't need to touch myself. I'm there. So there but he's still going.

"Please. I need to come."

"Hold out," he rasps with his mouth near to my ear. He lowers the smocked bodice of my dress, and palms my breast. He pummels his cock into harder and harder until he groans; his body becomes a plank of corded muscle as he pumps his cock roughly into me with hard grinding thrusts as we come together.

For seconds, we both slump over the trunk. He kisses my shoulder. "Fuck, Ana. Where are the damn nipple clamps?"

"It showed through my dress," I reply.

"Next time, wear another dress. That's going to cost you this Wednesday. Stay put, baby."

He lifts and takes the plug out of the bag. I hear the bottle squeeze. "Will this hurt?" I whisper.

"Less if you do what as I say. When I tell you to breathe, exhale deeply, then inhale. Do it."

I do as he says when he directs me and he slides the plug in place. It feels…big. Foreign, and when he lifts me, he gently turns me around. "We need to get cleaned up. We can go to your place or mine."

"I come prepared." I back away and open the car door. I've got a slew of things in my bag that border on a drugstore. Everything from wipes to eye drops. "Let me," I say with several wipes in hand. I clean him up and then go to my side of the car as he pops the trunk of his car.

By the time he comes back, he's wearing a navy blazer and sunglasses. GQ gorgeous, and if José could see him now, he'd roll his eyes on the way to his preppy fantasyland.

"Ready?" he asks with a smirk.

With a tube of lipstick in hand, I smooth on a coat, press my lips together, and nod. "Yep."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~more to come.

Take it easy and have a great holidays.

Thanks for reading, and writing or hollerin' back as it's called in these parts. The feedback you've provided is killer! Appreciated to the nth x nth degree! xo

Taking a short winter recess now that these lovers are in a stable place.

Snort.

Righttttt.

Will update as soon as I can. xo


	29. GOOD GOD DAMN Vetting 6 P1

Good God Damn

Christian Grey

PRETTY BUSY," Ana comments as we both walk by car after car lining the circular driveway. The Vice President's residence has a Secret Service detail talking on cells, and there's usually a few cars outside, but this smells of a larger get together than Virginia, Anastasia, and myself. Scaling the wraparound porch steps, we give our names to the two agents.

One looks at our ID badges, then nods as the other agent speaks into his mic clipped to his collar and then addresses us, "You're both clear, Senator Grey. Miss Steele"

We move past the agents just as the Veep's administrative assistant swings open the door and smiles. "Please come in, Senator Grey."

"Thanks," I reply as I follow Ana inside.

"Right this way," she says and motions with her hand not out toward the French doors and beyond where there are people milling about in the gardens to the rear of the house, but toward a hallway.

I exchange a quick glance with Anastasia and she raises her eyebrows in silent question. This was supposed to be a quiet lunch…but then again, I think idiot me. Define quiet in the world of the Veep. What's twenty or thirty people on a Sunday afternoon?

"After you," I say to both ladies.

We're ushered upstairs to private sitting area and the Veep is on the phone. She nods and smiles, waving us inside. It's one of the round rooms within the turret.

Her assistant asks, "Would care for something to drink?"

"Nothing for me. Ms. Steele?" Inside the small room, I can't help but admire how becoming Ana is with her flushed skin. I'm forced to stow my desire to devour her, and simply observe her with the higher order thinking parts of my brain.

"A glass of water, please," Ana replies.

I recognize Dr. Mazina as she walks by the doorway and stops, waiting for Virginia's assistant to exit. She enters and greets me with a warm, "Hello."

When Virginia hangs up, we walk forward, and she stands, pushing up her glasses to the top of her head. "Welcome. Goodness, there's no lack of opinions. Let me tell you."

"Madam Vice President, Dr. Mazina may I introduce you to Ms. Ana Steele," I perform the introduction and it feels forced. Nothing is easy when it comes to formality and the Capitol. Christ Almighty, I can already see how screwed up this is to believe I can act as canned and uninvolved as I'm sure Dr. Mazina and the Veep assume I am. Shit, if I can pull that off I'll deserve an Academy award.

"Ms. Steele, it's a pleasure to meet you," Virginia replies.

Dr. Mazina repeats her pleasure as well, mentioning her work she's done with Kate's farther. The reference surprises me even though I'm aware the Veep's team would dig and extract numerous details of Anastasia's life. We take seats, all of us pausing as a staffer enters with a tray, bearing a glass of ice water.

"Thank you," Anastasia says and takes the glass, sipping the water and flashing a glance my way over the rim as the staffer delivers a message to Virginia.

Blue fire connects within me and I grip the armrests, reminding myself for the hundredth time to remain unaffected as my pulse races and my cock twitches. I don't want to but I look away.

When the room is just us four, the Veep leans toward Ana. "Welcome to the Hill, Ms. Steele. I was an admirer of your step-father when he was in office. Are you planning to follow in his footsteps?"

"Not at all. I enjoy the behind the scenes vista and talking with folks," she replies and takes another sips of her water.

"Ah, sounds like the writer in you speaks."

"Can't deny that's where my heart lies."

"Nora informed my office about the visit to Harvard and I watched the YouTube of the Senator in action. Impressive."

"I can't take credit for the…million or so hits the video has gotten." Anastasia looks at me. "Senator Grey captivated the audience."

"He does have his ways." Virginia nods to me, then refocuses on Anastasia. "You're liking Washington though?"

"Well, I've only been here since Friday, but yes. I do enjoy the nonstop work that I've witnessed so far."

"Good. And what about socially? Have seen anything D.C. has to offer?"

"I've been here before. And yes. Again." The skin over Ana's face turns a shade or two pinker than before and she doesn't stammer in her reply. "It's a city I don't think I'd ever get tired of exploring."

"It's always changing," Dr. Mazina agrees and I catch the Veep's eye without looking away.

"Lunch will be served soon, and let me brief." She turns to me. "You two have talked about my suggestion?"

"We have," I reply, relishing the past few moments of watching Anastasia in action, and I glance over to her. Our eyes meet, and I force my face to bear no reaction. Her shoulders and arms have goose bumps and I clench my jaw, refraining from rubbing my hands over her skin to soothe and warm her. Hell will freeze over in buckets before I give the Veep any indication that this girl is my Achilles' heel. If Ana was seamless on stage last night on her knees, she's positively glowing now.

Virginia turns to Anastasia and smiles. "This isn't something nefarious that we're putting into play. We just want Senator Grey's image to be reconciled to what the American people believe a Vice President ought to be. Unfortunately, this isn't a race of the best man winning. It's a race of the best PR team and we're leveling the playing field."

"I understand all about preconceived notions and I'm comfortable with the presumption that the Senator and I… are friends."

"Yes, friends," Virginia repeats the term and then laughs. "Gracious. That's perfect. Isn't it flawless, Dr. Mazina?"

"It is." The good doctor looks spellbound. "It's an angle we overlooked, I'm sorry to say."

"So, is there something you'd specifically like to address?" I cross my ankle over my knee and lean back in my chair. "Perfect or not. A senator dating a staffer can spell trouble."

"Are we talking about the 'media' or in general?" Dr. Mazina asks.

"Every which way," I reply. "How will that be dealt with? I'm not worried about me. I want Ms. Steele's reputation to remain intact. Untarnished and we all know how brutal the opposition can get."

"What could be better than friends? Senator, I'm serious. That spin on you two hasn't been done in forever. As long as you two remain just that…there won't be anything to deal with other than two incredibly good-looking people who enjoy each other's company. It has winner stamped all over it. Are you two friends?" Virginia peers over at us, shifting her focus between us.

"We're…" How to describe what the fuck Anastasia and I are…in understandable terms. There's so many and I don't think friends is one of them. Lovers—yes. Fuck buddies—no. Friends—I don't know. I opt for safe. "We've gone from acquaintances on Wednesday and colleagues now."

Anastasia flinches slightly. "_Colleagues_?"

From her tone, I can tell she doesn't like that term any more than I do, but I can't lie. We don't know each other…fuck that's a lie. I've memorized the taste of her lips, her sighs, her name on my tongue. I could pick her out of a roomful of women if I was blindfolded. I'm haunted by her in my dreams. When I'm awake. Sitting next to her like we are right now when I can't touch her.

"We're on the way to becoming friends," I say and that sounds as lame as my dickhead follow up. "Honestly, I don't think there's a term for us and that's okay. I'm sure when we spend time together, we'll become…friends." I unfurl my legs and splay apart my knees. All I have to do is get my ass out of this chair, haul Ana upward, and out the door. Out all the way past the front porch and explain to her… Fucking A! If I could only articulate one tenth of what I feel. God god damn! That's not anything but stupidity running rampant inside my head.

"Pricelss, the way you put yourself and Ms. Steele on a trajectory. It's positively man-thinking. Isn't that true, Ms. Steele?"

"Please, call me Ana. I'm not ready to attribute a linear plan as strictly a product of male conception. Women haven't cornered the market on nonlinear from what I've seen."

"I'm with you," Dr. Mazina agrees. "And don't let the Vice President fool you. She's the most linear thinker I've ever met. Perhaps a little lateral as well."

"Except when I'm hatching my own plan." Virginia smiles as if yellow feathers are about spew from her mouth. "For example, there's a ball next week. The president is hosting several dignitaries from South America and Cuba. It's time to introduce you to our supporters in Argentina, Columbia, and Peru as well as the Castro's cabinet. I promise, from here on out, you'll receive an official invitation. Friday evening…are you both available?"

"Black-tie," I say, without committing. I'd heard about the formal affair, not that I was panting for an invite. I do my political wrangling during the day, and am having lunch with some the Cuban dignitaries during the week. Yet to have Steele on my arm, yeah…I'm available. I've already had the pleasure of getting the wind knocked out me in how gorgeous she is in a gown. Blood red. Long. And even more memorable after I stripped it off her.

"Is that something you're interested in attending?" I ask Ana, instead of answering for her as is my quintessential desire to make all the decisions affecting us. Treating her as an equal, forces my possessive gut reaction to the back burner as I reel in my emotions. This state of placidly empowers me to put aside being an overbearing jackass. I don't know how I feel about that one. Now isn't the time to consider the impact of pretending mild interest in Ana—in lieu of my actual obsession to possess her completely.

"May I speak frankly?" Ana asks, looking directly in my eyes.

Everyone including me stills. What in the fuck is she about to say?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~More to come.

Just an Xmas tease. The next part of the chapter will be up as soon as I can manage.

Have a safe, healthy, and happy as huck foliday!

xo


	30. What's In A Name? Vetting 6 P2

**WHAT'S IN A NAME?**

Ana Steele

I SET my water glass down. It's empty. Unlike me. Seated next to Christian, my body is a vortex of sensation. Flaring fear launches icy darts up my spine. I totally get that I'm seated on a pile of TNT-laced secrets. Worse, sequestered in the Veep's private sitting room, the round walls crush me. I go from arctic pinpricks to wave after wave of heat, flushing fire over my skin as I shift and feel the plug my charming Senator inserted into me, push against the inner walls of my body.

It's tight, a tingling reminder of Christian's ownership of my body and his promise,_"I'm going to fuck your ass"_ are fuel to ignite our explosive hidden world. His words reverberate in my head, louder and harder to mute as I sit and make nice with Virginia Ryan, possible future U.S. President. I recount how crazy Christian and I have been and are planning to go.

He trains his mercurial eyes on me and I'm borderline insane, trying for his sake to remain poised. The irony that my grandparents, for all their epic desire to control me and my future have prepared me for this moment of giving good face. _Hypocritical good face_.

_Friends! _Are they crazy? I'd like to reach out and take my Dom by his gorgeous face, stare into his hypnotic smoky eyes, and scream at the top of my lungs, "I'm not that good of an actress!" But of course, it's no goddamn mystery why Ryan is interested in me. She, like everyone on the planet, could truly give to flying fucks about me personally—I've got something she can use. Shakespeare had it ass-backward. "What's in a name?" It's fucking power when it comes with connections.

"Ana, go on," Christian prompts me in his gravelly voice.

Great. Now everyone has their eyes on me as if I'm about to announce my plans to solve world peace, the Ebola epidemic, and how to stop North Korean hackers from screwing with the entertainment industry.

Drawing from my acting experience, I fold my trembling fingers on my lap, take a deep breath, and remind myself to speak in a calm as crap voice. "Madam Vice President, obviously my surname has a lot to do with why you believe I'm a good choice as Senator Grey's _friend."_

"That's a tiny part," she replies, tilting her head as if she's trying to assess where I'm coming from.

I swallow, forcing myself to stay true to the course. Better to lay the foundation and let the Veep in on exactly how far up the 'S' list I am in the world of Grace and Stan Stillman. I'm not a person with political connections and I need to clarify that right now!

"Madam Vice President," I begin as she stares back at me with her unblinking blue eyes. She nods when I falter. _Keep going._ "Uh, days ago, I severed the ties with the maternal side of my family. I'm not a person who possesses aspirations or the connections I suspect you believe I might."

Dr. Mazina and the Veep exchange knowing looks—the sort that have the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. The Vice President leans forward and smiles pleasantly. "Ana, thank you for being honest. Christian relayed you'd hit a rough spot with your family, and since we're being honest, let me assure you, your grandparents love you. They aren't put out. If I may say, I don't believe whatever dispute took place has any far reaching affect. "

_What is she talking about?_ "I don't understand. How would you know?" I feel my brow crinkle and I can't fake being unaffected by the news that she's contacted Gran and Pops…and potentially, Patrick.

She laughs. "I personally spoke with Grace and Stan. They both assured me, they're on board with you working for Senator Grey. I believe 'thrilled' would be the term I'd use to describe your grandmother's reaction at the idea that you might be doing more than simply working with Christian."

Holy Fuck! Gran doesn't understand the term 'friends.' My grandmother hears the word friends and in her strange thinking patterns, it turns into 'affianced.' Friends are the threshold by which she barges into one's life. I can imagine Gran has already contacted Tiffany's about china and sterling patterns, and has blocked out the family chapel for wedding dates.

"And Patrick?" I fling back, curling my toes into my sandals. "Did you also talk with him about me?"

"Patrick and I do speak on a number of topics. And of course, he inquired about you and how he could help. Your step-father may have stepped away from the political arena, but he's someone that has his own interest groups and maintains an office nearby. A good reason why many people get out. They want to direct from the wings." The Vice President glances over to Christian. "Unlike us."

If I look over to him, I'm going to spew. I can't believe I was an idiot to trust him. Friends…_we're not friends_. What the fuck are we? Seething, I inhale slowly as my cheeks grow hot and hotter. My heartbeat hammers in my chest and it's taking every iota of strength to remain seated. I swallow the vitriol infused sentiments racing through my mind. Over and over, I tell myself, I can't believe Christian is backstabbing me. He's screwing me over as he screws me without a qualm and like a savage. He's not as linear, Madam Veep! He's a master of manipulation and to think, I'm so blatantly naïve to believe what we have means something.

"Ana, would you like to attend the ball?" he asks me again, and I slowly turn toward him, tightly clasping my hands together in my lap. He's got that cocky smug grin in place. Sweet Jesus, if we were alone what I'd do.

I interlace, squeezing my fingers that itch to slap the smirk off his gorgeous face. "Sure. Why not, Senator Grey?" I can't help that my tone has a serrated bite to it—it's the best I can do. His eyes widen incrementally. Fuck, I hope he gives me hell later so I can refute whatever he has to say with the shitstorm running through my head.

"Then it's a date," the Veep says, but Christian and I both refuse to break this staring contest we're neck deep in at the moment.

"Shall we?" Dr. Mazina stands and I guess, it's time for the _senator_ and Mrs. Ryan to glad-hand those present. "I'm famished."

Virginia remains seated. "Dr. Mazina, please show Ana to the garden. There's refreshments being served. The Senator and I will be right along."

Superb. I'm being dismissed but I guess it's better than having to exit with Christian. With my pulse pounding in my temples, I scoot to the edge of my seat, then hurry as he stands. I don't want him to touch me so I burst out the chair and reposition myself on the side. Awkward…I don't care—this is my best move—the only one at my disposal that won't have a Secret Service agent in here, subduing me, kicking and screaming to the cream-colored silk rug under my feet.

I gather what little working brain cells I still possess, and curl my lips into something other than a sneer. Glancing to Christian, I speak between my clenched jaw. "I'll see you outside." A muscle twitches in his jaw and I swing from focus away to the Veep. "So very nice to meet you, Madam Vice President."

She comes forward with her arms outstretched and hugs me. This would be the point to recalibrate myself by closing my eyes and taking a cleansing breath. Hell, I tell myself to close my eyes, but stupid me just has to peer over at Christian.

As Dr. Mazina opens the door, he mouths to me, _"Your ass is mine!"_

Narrowing my eyes, I tilt my face from the Veep's slightly, and silently, I shoot back to him. "_Fuck. Off_!"

"See you outside." Virginia pats my shoulder, then focuses on her assistant who's entered with another message.

"We'll be down shortly," he growls, the skin over his cheeks is redder than I've ever noticed and his eyes darken as he stares down at me. His hands are at his sides, his fingers are curled—a sure sign that someone is ready to blow. "I'll come find you."

Like the Scotch he drinks and has poured over my navel before he lapped it up, his deep voice is smooth and evocative. This is the same voice he uses when he's stressing a point—said or unsaid. My traitor body reacts to one of his tells as though my mind is disconnected—not on the invitees list for this fucked up party about to unleash between Senator Grey and myself. My nipples tighten in what I imagine is seventeen shades of insane anticipation. Just fucking great. From the neck down, I'm strung out, sensing how this can go hardcore in all the wrong ways. If having sex is dangerous at work, getting my ass pummeled while at Number One Observatory Circle with teams of Secret Service has got to be the doorway marked _best-worst-idea ever concocted._

I don't know what I want more: to get into a heated debate with Christian…or a screaming fuck. _Neither! Am I looney?_

He gifts me with quirked brow as his gaze drops proprietarily down my body. Unspoken volumes are interjected with his dark look, and for a second, I actually consider flipping him off.

"Ana," Dr. Mazina softly says my name from the doorway, reminding me that shuffling my feet is not an effective exit from the Veep's personal sitting room.

Jesus, Joseph, and Mary what a poor impression I must be making, but at least Christian gets my insolent drift as I refuse to break eye contact when I move past him, almost daring him to _do something_.

I follow Dr. Mazina down the stairs as she chats about the media present and who to trust versus who will play me like a tool. Should I tell her? _Listen, Doc… I'm the official tool of the Hill and no worries!_

At the French doors leading to the garden, there's so many people beyond. A sea of shining facing, dark suits, and photographers. My stomach knots. The garden party reminds me of my grandparents and I slow. "Excuse me," I say to Dr. Mazina. "Where's the restroom?"

"Do you need a moment?" she looks over the edge of her glasses.

"Several," I scoff, yet when her eyes widen, I follow with, "I'm joking."

"Agent?" She taps a man on the arm who stands unobtrusively out of the way. "Can you please show Ms. Steele to a restroom?"

This is the last of my emotional straws. "Thanks," I say hoarsely. I follow the agent who doesn't say a word or nor does he look at me. He keeps his face directed forward as we walk down a hall.

Up ahead another agent lifts his hand. "Hold up." The other's no-nonsense tone has me rolling my eyes, and then I realize the agent escorting me is watching me.

"Sorry," I say, not sure why I even care.

He smiles and crosses his arms. "You're different than the other people here," he ventures. "Do you want to go upstairs?"

"Excuse me?" Jesus H. Christ. He had better not think I'm like my Aunt Gertrude who does the house staff.

He points his finger to the ceiling. "There are other restrooms—"

"That's okay," I reply tersely, turning on my heel, and retreating down the hall. This is fantastic. I've just overreacted. This is only going to get worse if I stay here—not because of him, but I need a moment. But where?

"Wait," he says from behind me. "Miss Steele, hold up."

At the end of the hall, I can either keep walking blindly, my emotions in turmoil, and head out into the garden, still out of sorts…or get my shit together. I slow seeing the doors to the garden open and close. Slices of the people beyond. Staff carrying trays. This is worse than being at my grandparents—I'm stuck here without my own wheels. I stop and the agent is at my side. "What?" I ask him.

"The restroom is free. Down there." He looks as distraught as I feel. The other agent walks by, escorting an elderly man, and both this agent and I step aside.

"Okay," I reply. "I can see myself down the hall."

He lifts his sunglasses and it's obvious, he's younger and much less cocky appearing without them. "If I got out-of-line. Foot. Insert into my mouth. I didn't mean to."

"You didn't. Just forget it. Seriously." I nod and he looks relieved.

"No one will bother you. Down there." He jerks his chin, indicating the end of the hall.

"Thanks." I don't wait to see where he goes, but I'm grateful he's left me alone as I retreat down the hall, and enter the bathroom.

Shutting the door, I lean my body against it and tip back my head until it lands with a muted thud. I'm stunned that I'm back to ground zero where Christian is concerned and now, without having to feign that everything is fucking fine, a sharp twinge twists in my chest. I can barely draw a breath—my ribcage might as well be wrapped in barbwire. A stinging cloud assaults my eyes. No! I am so not going to break down and cry. I want to scream and throw something! Crap! How could I be so ridiculously gullible?

Christian's warning "_Welcome to the big leagues,"_ hits me full force.

I'd told him, I wanted to affect change. Well crap! Is now a good time?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Christian (Steaming) Grey is up next. Gulp!

How was your holiday?

Thanks for writing and cross-wishing other writers/readers a super holiday as well. It's like a huge community hug that goes round and round! Mwah.

Stay warm if you're in a wintry hemisphere…or cool, if you're down under!

xo


	31. Soft, Slow isn't WHAT WE DO BEST V7

**SOFT, SLOW THAT'S NOT WHAT WE DO BEST**

**Christian Grey**

THE VEEP'S assistant exits the room and Virginia turns to me with her saccharine smile in place. I watch as she sits on the sofa in lieu of returning to her desk. "Senator, would you like something to drink?" She picks up a decanter and pours what looks to be Scotch into a tumbler, then lifts her expectant gaze to me.

"Jesus, Virginia." Waving her off, I don't sit but pace in back of the chairs where Ana and I just occupied. I've got to find Anastasia and deal with this moronic political sidewinding on the Veep's part. "You really overstepped on this one."

"Don't get upset. You know as well as I do that Ms. Steele is an asset as is her family. They've got Harvard in their back pocket." The Veep starts in again, dragging out my battered and bruised college history. "They've got the means to bury that less than stellar altercation, marring your history. Grace Stillman is onboard and willing to make sure Harvard buries the record."

"The report is sealed," I say, channeling my fingers through my hair.

"That slight hiccup isn't buried in Harvard's campus police records. Regardless of what they said, it's there. I requested a copy and within fifteen minutes, one was emailed. I assure you, it's very, very available." She lifts her glass and tosses back her complete drink, then sets her glass down, and pushes back onto the sofa.

"You're digging for dirt on me?" I'd taken pains to have my record wiped clean but given Dean Nolan has a hard-on for my democratic opposition—the same senator the Stillmans back, I can only question what the fuck is going on to get Ana's grandparents to flip-flop and cross party lines. "What have you done to get the Stillmans to jump their democratic and well-oiled political ship?"

"Whatever it takes."

"Specifically?" I stare at her while she taps her fingers along the armrest of the sofa, refusing to break eye contact.

"I'm doing what needs to be done to get past these slight hiccups in our histories. With regards to you, it's not earth-shattering, but it's news worthy…a girlfriend who comes with cross party affiliations. It's not illegal or immoral, and very much was the press and the public are hungry to hear. Everyone wants to know the scoop…on you, Senator."

"The scoop? Don't you mean, one you've vetted when I specifically told you about my intern's recent history."

"Pretty spectacular and on a short as hell timeframe. Wouldn't you say?"

She doesn't get it? Yet I've got my back to the wall. I can't appear overly emotional, or the Veep will latch onto what's the below the surface and use Anastasia and my involvement to her benefit. Political maneuvering and backstabbing is nothing new, but what Ryan's done clearly is for one person's advantage. "You've spun it for your benefit. Let's not pretend otherwise."

"Mine is yours. And vice versa. That's how we play this game, Christian. You're aware this is the big leagues."

I stop pacing and can't contain the edge to my voice. "Thanks for the tip, but I'm not selling my soul."

"I'm not asking that. Only what our backers want, which sure as shit isn't damage control. We're working to shore up all possible issues and now, with Ms. Steele a pillar in your foundation, we're heading in the right direction."

_Direction_…fuck! Does she mean the road to hell? "Oh really. It sounds like we're selling ourselves preemptively."

She leans forward, her brow creased. "I understand from your vantage point. You're not accustomed to having to bend. You've ridden a ticket that caught fire with how the press loves to tag onto what's trending. No one has seriously taken any potshots at you or your senate campaign. Key term, Christian: yet. All I'm asking is that you use the gift we've stumbled upon. Can't you casually date this young woman?"

Glaring at her, I reply, "I don't casually date. Anyone."

"News flash! Christian, we know! And that's the damn issue I'm battling with voter polling."

I'm so close to telling her forget her plan. This is total bullshit. "Are you afraid someone might think I'm gay?"

Her eyes widen. "If that were true, we'd use it. Hell, it might not be a bad thing, but everyone on the Hill knows you're not. It's a question and without an answer, it'll become a situation. You as well as I realize that's fodder for the arena of conjecture. For a man featured on a calendar, you're got too many mysteries."

The sides of my temple pound. I close my eyes for a second as the muscles up and down my neck cinch into knots. When I gaze at her, I take hold of the back of the chair and grind out, "That… was a mistake."

"It's not history though. It's a mistake that could cost us if some idiot decides she's the jilted girlfriend and with a story that'll sell. Won't matter if it's outright lies."

"I'm fully equipped to deal with that type of press," I say between gritted teeth.

Ryan crosses her arms over her chest. "I don't believe so. You're too popular and an easy target. You've got to understand. This might not go south by someone who wants the publicity. It could get worse, a set-up from our opposition."

"The Democrats are gonna pull that kind of punch?" I shake my head.

"Don't be naïve to think it hasn't been done." Virginia rises from the sofa. "Let me be blunt, Christian. The fact that no one knows whose bed you share, well it's a little unnerving. Give the press a bone. And with someone like Ms. Steele, you can't go wrong. Nothing serious. There's the Presidential Ball coming up. Perfect photo opt moment. Dinner. Dancing. You couldn't find a better partner. Her grandparents will be there and they're eager to meet you."

"You invited Ms. Steele's grandparents after I explained, in confidence, that was an issue. If anyone is ambushing, it's you right now. You don't care about damage control—you're dead wrong if you believe it's unnecessary. That's what I'm about to jump neck deep into thanks to you."

"I wouldn't worry about Ms. Steele's tiff with her family. Those types…Jesus, Christian. Blood is always thicker than water. In the end, your little intern's act of rebellion will be fodder for family stories of 'Remember When.' They've been here, working D.C. for a century and the Stillmans and Steeles will be here for the next five centuries. That's how this works. We need them, but hell, they don't need us. In their books, we're expendable. If they're offering up support, smart people take what they can get and understand, there's an expiration date."

"That message is tainted. Are you listening to yourself?"

She laughs. "It's not. I'm excited! Do you realize what a coo this will be if we garner their support?"

"Maybe more than you realize. And since I'm playing the charming escort…excuse me, Madam Vice President." I walk toward the door before I say something that will get me black listed in the Capitol. I've got more intel on the Veep than she realizes, but now isn't the time to show my hand. What does she have? One jackass arrest report—I feared she'd have something darker. Something related to Anastasia and myself.

"What are you going to do?" She crosses the room, stopping a few feet from me.

"I'd better go see to Ms. Steele now that you've dropped this bomb." I grip the doorknob, holding it so fucking tight the muscles in my arm tremble. My thoughts churn, wondering about Anastasia and what's running through her mind. I can't leave—not yet. I let go and squarely face Virginia Ryan, clenching my jaw. "Let me set the record straight. If you ever do something like this again…I'll back out of this race so fast, you'll wonder if you imagined me on your ticket. Don't you ever repeat this line of bullshit defense and attempt at blindsiding me, Virginia. You're not the only one with political factions, capable of forays. I might not tap mine…but, you all of all people should realize, it doesn't mean they're non-existent. But then, I bet you know that. Don't you?"

For a second, I stare at her, forcing myself to remain quiet and not tell her to go to hell.

"I hear what you're saying," she whispers. Whether it's true or not, she appears contrite or frightened. I can't tell which. "I'll call Ms. Steele and smooth whatever is frayed. I promise, she'll be fine. Give me a day and you'll see."

"You've got one day, to undo this mess." I yank open the door and meet two Secret Service agents who nod to me. I walk by silently seething with only one mission. To find Ana and try to explain this clusterfuck.

I enter the main meeting room that adjoins the hallways and stairs, and then I see Anastasia. Talking with an agent. He lifts his glasses, staring down at her, and I tell myself that I'd better not lose it. I can't go ballistic each time she talks with some random guy. Shaking her head, her features are drawn. There's nothing flirtatious in her stance—not hers. Can't say the same for the agent.

She doesn't see me cloistered here as I watch her. More silent stalking and I don't care. I gauge my next move; what I'll say as she walks away from the agent, down the hall. Where's she going and why isn't she outside? Fuck! I'm going to follow her and find out.

A woman at the garden entrance demands to know when the Veep is coming outside. She speaks loudly in a slurred voice and I cross the living, following Ana, damned well going to find out where she's heading.

This side of the house it's quiet and I glance over my shoulder as I walk down the hallway to assure myself I'm not being followed—not that I've got idea number one what I'll do when I get to Anastasia. At the doorway where she entered, I stop. My pulse is pounding and I need to sort out what I can say that doesn't sound like more political manipulation BS. Should I knock? Only if I want her to tell me to go take a hike.

I turn the knob and open the door. She's leaning with her palms planted against the counter. "Hey," I say when I enter.

She looks over at me, then down as she straightens. Her cheeks are flushed when she picks up her cell, shaking her head. "Don't talk to me."

"You have every right to be upset," I'm going for honesty. "This is total bullshit."

Her head snaps up. "Are you pandering to me? Fuck, Christian."

"Is that what you think I'm doing?" I want to shake her, and even though my common sense blares a warning to go slow—not something we do best. Heated discussions have a tendency for us to end up half-naked, screaming or fucking or both.

"Well, let's see. I come clean about how screwed up my family is. What bloodsucking leeches they are, and you share that with the Vice President…who goes running like she's on fire to my grandparents. It was bad enough to have to tell my idiot cousin off and my grandparents before leaving Boston, and now they're going to use that against me. I can't do this. I won't—"

Her chin is quivering and she shakes her head as the first tears begin to fall. My pulse pounds and I don't give a flying fuck about anyone outside this bathroom.

I pull her to me and crush me mouth down on hers, backing her up to the vanity. Lifting her dress, I separate her legs, and delve my hand between her thighs. We don't do words effectively, but we do… do sex seamlessly.

"Baby," I growl.

"Don't…" She moans and just as fast, she bites down on my lip, raising up her leg and giving me access to her heat.

"Yes, let me." I swipe my fingers down her slick skin and toggle her clit. Rub and pinch, flick and then plunge my finger into her as I wrap my arm around her waist, not letting her go. "You're mine. Say it!"

I go slow. At first. But she's stubborn and I pump faster, harder until her eyelids flutter. "No!" she whispers angrily.

Fuck. She needs to stop reeling and there's only one way to get her to own what we've got. I lower my zipper, open my fly, and free my cock. "Yes. You're mine. Your pussy is wet and your body is keyed up for me. Stop fighting me, Anastasia. You want me. Buried inside you. Say it, baby."

My dick is pure rebar and throbbing. I stroke myself and watch her incredible eyes lower to my hand moving up and down my rod. She sucks her lips between her teeth and I pump my hand with greater force. I'm so close to coming and she'd better decide soon. "This cock could be inside you right now. Fucking you. Giving you want you want. Just say the word, sweetheart."

"Please," she moans.

Lifting her thigh, I align my crown with her entrance and pound forward, burying my dick deep inside her. For a beat, I hold still, fighting the feeling of jetting this soon. With the plug in place, she's tighter than normal. Slowly I withdraw and thrust forward into her, pumping my length into her silky softness, gaining speed as I fuck her.

There's a knocking sound, and she digs her nails into my skin. "Christian, the door," she whispers sharply against my lips.

I listen but shit, I can't stop fucking her. My heart hammers in ears, echoing the darts of intense pleasure rocketing through me. We're jostling the door as it knocks with each slam of my cock. Her pussy feels perfect, squeezing me tight.

"Curl your legs around my waist," I say and move us to the wall away from the door. As far away as I can get for what we're doing. I'm fucking her hard. I'm fucking her furious until she's spent her anger. I hold onto her and bite down on her shoulder, sucking a point then a path to her neck. She's clenching around my shaft and I can't hold back. I plunge my cock into her as deep as possible, taking us over the edge as she cries out. I cover her mouth with my mine, capturing her sounds of pleasure and release, impaling her until I'm there. Coming with her to the brink.

"You're a beast," she whispers hoarsely, her arms snaked around my neck.

"At least you didn't run away…this time. We're making headway." Setting her legs down, I kiss her lips, relishing her sweetness.

"But we're not done. We're so not done!"

"Oh no?" I cage her between my arms, my heart pounding a message to tell her what she means to me.

She leans forward, whispering into my ear. "I'm referring to our we need to talk."

"So I'm not the only one who says that…now am I?" I turn my face, and we're less than an inch away from each other as I drown in her crystal blue eyes.

"This is so messed. My grandparents are to be told nothing about me. Do you not see how dangerous this is? They'll find out. About all of this. About the House, Christian. They delight in this type of challenge."

"A gauntlet you initially tossed down." I can't let her see this a form of unbridled manipulation on my part, and I lower my hands, cupping her face. "I promise, you're not going to be beholden to them. And neither am I."

"Is this more political BS? I'll take responsibility for pushing the envelope. But they're my family—my decision in how I handle getting them off my back."

"You're right." I stare into her eyes. "There's no argument that you call the shots with your family. Same as me with my fucked up situation."

She closes her eyes. "I don't need to be appeased."

I shake her, until she opens her incredible eyes. "I'm not. I can't come out and tell the Veep to kiss off. We need to be smart in how to play this. What can I do to help you?"

Ana shrugs. "I don't know. That depends on my grandparents. Maybe even Patrick. We'll have to see how they respond—what they do."

"We're playing political chess," I remind her, dropping my hands to her shoulders, and kissing the side of her head.

"Exactly." She melds against me, holding on to my arms as her thumbs rub tiny circles along my skin. "With my family, playing games is how we related to each other. I guess that's why I loved playing Alice in "_You Can't Take It With You_.' My one chance at being a regular, normal person—of course it was on a stage. How ironic and apropos."

"Powerful families have agendas. Not just yours." Wrapping her within my arms, I don't want to let her go. Not with the solemn tone her voice has taken on. My mind is spinning, as I contemplate the players and what needs to be done. For her, I'll get into this messed up soul selling game—hell, I'm going to be one motherfucker when it comes to protecting this woman. "Christ, I guess I always knew this day would get here."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~more to come

So, are you in or out regarding how much jockeying has to be done in the 'behind the scenes' of the Capitol? Things are still ramping up for how far we'll travel in this installment, and as you can tell, we're still storming the gates of crazy town!

All aboard! Xo

**Notes**: FYI: If you don't want to read the notes, don't.

For those who missed some of them, yes this story is written in an original form where the characters are DISTINCT from FSOG. I hold the copyrights to both books Seduced and Vetting after having one of my FF stories stolen and published on a pirate(s) site. I spend hours writing, and yes I do publish these stories IN THEIR ORIGINAL FORM. There's no trickery there. No spam. I'm not asking you to buy a thing.

What do you get? A free read. I hope you're clapping your hands.

If not…mmm guess you don't have to tune in.

What do I get? A chance to showcase and try out a story, commune with others who enjoy this type of writing, and it means so much to hear from someone who has a thought, enjoys an update, or just wants to say, "Hey!"

Sooooo, in the beginning you stuck with me with the goofs and errors and I do so appreciate the feedback. Know that you're helping, making someone (me) smile by reading and writing. Hard to believe, but completely true.

And I thank thank thank you kindly! XO


	32. HOW FAR OVER THE EDGE Vetting 7

** ADULT CONTENT**

**Mature Themes**

**HOW FAR OVER THE LINE**

**Christian Grey**

SUNDAY EVENING and I'm sitting in my car, clenching my jaw. I should just get a goddam ring pierced through my nose and be done with this shit. Why the annoyance? It's about me in another bout of stalking outside Ana's apartment.

Earlier, I'd dropped her off and fully intended on catching up on work. The load that's raining with subcommittee reports due yesterday. No problem. I'm in my zone. Cranking out reports, reviewing research for a legal brief, and then Archer sends me intel on Ana's family. Something's definitely going down and for once Archer's message is cryptic as shit. Says I need to lay eyes on my sub's condo as if I haven't been in creeper mode. I vow, not to do anything until I can get ahold of Archer, except he doesn't answer my texts or pickup when I phone his ass.

Now four hours later, here I am, parked outside her apartment in stalker mode and it's getting worse. I've got an inkling that I need to figure out how invested her grandparents are and if blood is thicker than water as the Veep suggested and with this message that Anastasia's apartment needs to be watched I'm more than on edge. Blood versus water is definitely is a messed up kind of situation—I know. It's the type that can strangle, with chokehold ferocity when it comes to some families *cough* mine—but I'm not Steele or a Stillman. Those types don't do automatic weapons, killer contracts, hit men.

I've expunged my history a.k.a. my family and the Veep's clueless as is the rest of world as to where I've actually arisen and what I've experienced. So far removed from my mother's side that here, I'm the jackass equipped with a pair of binoculars in hand in lieu of a site piece on a rifle. Those days are over. And tonight, when I'm effectively operating blind in trying to formulate my next move, I keep repeating that sentiment. _Those days are fucking over._ They have to be. Tell that to this sense that I've got to protect Anastasia. She's all that fucking matters.

I glance up and nothing's changed. The windows to her apartment are all dark except the one off the balcony. Apparently my little submissive isn't sitting at home, knitting a sweater. I question where in the fuck is she? And with whom?

All I have to do is pick up the mother lovin' cell twelve inches from knee and ask her. I have a few rights as her Dom. _Don't I?_ Instead of stalking, I should just call her. It's not like I don't have a phone that can't be traced to me. But here I sit, like I'm in high school and chasing my first lay. I pick up my second cell, running my finger over the cool glass screen that lights up with one contact number. Hers.

Clenching my teeth, I can see how me calling her to demand to know her whereabouts, will come across as asshole move of the century. Especially after the fuckery today with the Veep's admission of gerrymandering, I'm not about to add more fuel to Anastasia's fire that we're cornering her—which I would if I fucking could.

Tossing the phone back into my glove compartment, I curse. _Shit or get off the goddamn pot, Grey! Rightttt._ I put the binoculars back into the leather case and stow them on the floor of the backseat. Once more scan of the apartment and I groan at my own stupidity at being at a crossroad that splinters into half a dozen directions. Pulling away from the curb, I ignore my gut with the slow burn, and drive to my own apartment that's starting to feel more and more like solitary confinement.

My plan: tomorrow I'm going to insert a larger plug in my beautiful sub's ass and get her ready for Wednesday when I take ownership of her in yet another way. If she's going to run all around this town, then I'm going to make damn sure to enjoy her when I have the opportunity. Using my _official_ senator cell, I text Ana an innocuous message. **"Meet me early tomorrow. 30 minutes before eight."**

As I drive, my phone buzzes. She's texted me. **"Sure thing? Anything special reason?"**

I grip the leather padding around my steering wheel until it squeaks. How many times can we tell each other we need to _talk_? Since we've met, that sentiment when expressed leads to us to disrobing and fucking.

My dick twitches and I text back, **"Work. The morning meeting."**

I keep my texts clipped and to the point, but I'm holding my cell…waiting to see if she'll respond. When she does, I look at the screen, and smile. **"Sure thing, boss. I'll be there. Bright and early."**

IT'S MONDAY morning and I'm early. There's a meeting downstairs, and I specifically directed Ana to meet me at work. Thirty minutes ahead of schedule. Oliver isn't here yet and I'm downing a cup of coffee as I answer the emails I didn't get to last night thanks to me getting derailed. I hear a noise in the outer corridor and I finish the email that I'm typing and hit 'send' before I shift focus. My little submissive appears in my doorway and fuck me. Dressed in in dark skirt and a blouse that accentuates her incredibly suckable tits, she smiles at me, glancing around my office.

"Good morning," she says. "I'm ready for your roundtable talk. Any last minute instructions?"

I turn my chair forward, and for a moment, I enjoy just watching her. Until I lower my gaze to her legs and recall how she felt wrapped around me yesterday. This impervious connection she and I share—the one that accompanies wherever I go, ignites fully charged and I ache to take hold of her, drive my cock inside her until she begging me to go fast. Do her hard.

"Exceptional morning and yes, I have something I need to attend to before the talk begins. Close the door." My words come out strained as I open my desk drawer and extract a case. It's unlocked but won't be once I've changed plugs within Anastasia's ass. I pop the locks and the sound of them rings out in my office where she and I stare at one another. She comes up to my desk and I meet her gaze. "Did you obey me and keep the plug in place as I directed."

She blushes. "Yes."

I should press her on that one…ask if she went out last night with my plug in her ass. "What's it feel like?"

"Big. A substitute."

I remove the larger plug from the case. "It's time for another size."

"Here? You're going to do that now…right before the meeting downstairs?"

I rise. She's wearing her customary killer shoes but I'm still much taller than her and quirk my brow at her, savoring the blush on her cheeks that deepens under my steely perusal. "Would you rather I wait and do it when all the staff are milling about?"

She gasps and scoffs, "Of course not."

"Then follow me," I direct her, leading the way to the conference table. I should have waited for her and guided her over to the table, but I'm pissed that she's gallivanting around town free as a bird while I'm sequestered in a prison of my own choosing. I never envisioned I'd be some overbearing prick concerning a girl—but fuck, she has the unshakeable power over me.

When I turn, she's right in back of me, and I get a whiff of her perfume. The scent tears through me and crash lands right in my cock. I go from semi-erect to sporting a full hard-on.

"What do you have in mind, _Senator_?"

Is she taunting me? I grit my teeth and decide to give her a dose of her own smart-aleck medicine. "Lift your dress. And do it quickly."

She stares at me for a millisecond as her eyes flick back and forth between mine and she cocks her brow as though she sees right through me. "Well alrighty."

Slowly she bends and draws the hem of her skirt up her slender thighs and I go from cocky and smug to pulling at my collar. She's wearing a pair of garters and matching panties. "Turn around," I growl, gripping the plug. I remove the bottle of lube and handkerchief from my pocket, maintaining my focus on the mind-blowing vision she encapsulates as she turns and presents her ass dressed in a matching set of lingerie that has me about to come in my pants if I don't stop staring.

"Sir?" she asks, provocatively glancing over her shoulder in what might be perceived as innocent if she were fully clothed. Standing as she is, semi-naked and gifting me with a view that is incomparable, I realize she's not innocent…she's playing me at my own game and, this girl is winning.

If she thinks bringing me to my knees is this easy, she'd better think again. I curl my fingers around the plug, struggling to ignore the hunger that feels like fire racing through my blood and a throbbing chant inside my head to free my cock and do her.

I flip the top to the bottle, and drip lube down the plug as she watches me, biting her lip. "Lean over the table and spread your beautiful legs. All the way and give me access your ass, Ms. Steele." Now, it's my turn to gloat and relish being the one to call the shots.

Her eyes narrow as she swings her face back toward the table. She plants her hands on the sleek wooden surface, partially bowing forward. She remains more upright than not, her chin notched in stubborn defiance, and I laugh.

"Lower and widen your legs, little sub. If I have to say the direction again, we'll deal with your attitude on Wednesday. Trust me, you don't want to add to the list already formulated after yesterday's little meltdown."

"That wasn't my fault, Sir. It was more like a police sting," she hisses over her shoulder, then stops when she sees me smile. I want her as irked as I feel, and hope she gives me cause to demonstrate who's top here.

"If you want to talk about a sting, maybe you'd better consider how your ass is going to feel when I take a cane to your cheeks for your defiant tone. Fucking lower yourself to the table, or I'll show you what happens to little subs who play with fire."

"Don't threaten me," she retorts.

I come up to her, itching to lay her over my lap and show her just what threatening feels like. Pressing over her back, I curl my fingers around her neck, grazing my jaw against her face. "I never threaten. If I have to fuck your ass this very moment to remind you which one of is the Dom, I will."

"What about the rule of no sex in the office?"

"Fuck the rules."

"Real way to build trust, Master."

"I am. You can trust that if you step out of line, it doesn't matter what the fuck is between us…I'll teach you. My promise to you means more than anything that materializes in the world. Didn't you hear? Where you're concerned, I'll break the rules. Every time. There's only one edict where you're concerned. Only one that exists. You're mine. That's all that matters."

"Don't I have a say?" she hisses.

Holy fuck! I inhale her scent, driven right to the edge as I press myself into her softness. I reach down, skimming my fingers over her tits, then lower. Yanking up her skirt, I'm so close to giving her a say… my name on her lips as she moans in ecstasy. I want to splay her legs open on this table and sample her cunt for breakfast. I remove my cell and snap a photograph of her partially clothed. I knead the curve of her ass and _snap_! I take another picture.

"This is mine," I rasp, showing her what we look like. "What do you have to say to us…like this? I could be fucking and photographing you."

Her lips drift open, and her near translucent blue eyes darken. "Please," she whispers as a shiver passes through her body, but once she doesn't fight me tooth and nail. "Take another and another, Sir." She spreads her thighs and pushes my hand down to the scrap of lace between her legs.

I click and ghost my fingers along her dampness. Sweet Jesus, this is torture. I need her. So much. I pull myself off her, running my fingers down to her hip as she folds over the table, obeying me. The strip of lace between her legs is a tempting tease that I push aside, and with the plug visible, I take another photograph. I remove the plug and _snap!_ Her ass is open, her pink flesh an invitation, and my cock strains my zipper.

"This is what I want. You. Open. All for me."

"Christian. I need you."

"You'll wait!" I demand as much for her as for me. I touch the tip of the larger plug to her and she arches. That's it. _My baby is so responsive._ I enjoy slowly inserting the plug into her ass then withdraw it, pumping it in and out of her. I reach around and push my hand down the front of her, splaying open her lips. And _snap_—I take another picture of her. She's wet, her clit is an erect nub, and she cries out the moment I press the pad of my thumb to her. "Do you enjoy when I play with your ass? When I photograph you?"

"So much," she whispers, rocking herself against my fingers. "Please, Sir."

I want to do her. Right here. Right now. But fuck, she's got me coming undone and that's not going to continue. She's right about me—I'm tearing up the rules. Somehow, I need to draw a line and not to cross it where she's concerned. _Like me parked outside her apartment. Do I need to remind myself to get a goddamn grip?_ Rein in my rampant hunger. That's what this lesson is all about. Not me falling under her spell one more time.

"That's all we have time for today," I say coldly and am rewarded her by her soft gasp. Yet the reward is hollow. Everything I desire is before me—contained within Ana.

~~~~~~ more to come!

How far over the edge. Oh baby, we're getting ready to freaking dive? Get you parachute, fire extinguisher, and a bag of ice. Today, we've derailed with a darker hint of who CG really is beyond the suave, sophisticated congressman. His buried history isn't what anyone suspects. Yet.

What will it take to push his buttons to the extreme…hmmm. I promise the shadow of evil lurks near. SO SO NEAR. And we've four books in total sooooooooooooooooo. Snort! That's all I can say for now.

Whoa! Smack me xoxoxo.

Now, something serious though.

I'M TAPPING YOU. Here's your call to action. A while back I offered up a FREE copy of Seduced By The Senator. Some of you contacted me. Sometimes your email failed to show up as FF erases all internet addresses unless you spread them out. I sent out a slew of copies last night.

_Seduced By The Senator_ is up on Amazon and I'm in need of your support. If you can post a review, I'll gladly gift you the book via Amazon. Seduced has changed a bit, a few tweaks which impact the second installation of Vetting and the plot.

Please, if you have time, go search it out.

**Seduced By The Senator **

**Author Alex Elliott **

It's dedicated to you all in the acknowledgements. xo

Thank you!


	33. IF ONLY THE FLOOR WOULD OPEN UP V7b

FUCK MAN. I'M BACK.

If anyone believes for one crapped up second that a man's heart can't be broken. Well listen up. It can.

Thank you for writing. For checking in and seeing if I fell off the face of the planet. News: I DID.

Here's a short post and we'll get going soon with more. Hope you all have one hell of new year!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~xo

IF THE FLOOR WOULD OPEN UP!

Anastasia Steele

CHRISTIAN KISSES the back of my neck and I arch against him, pressing my left ass cheek against the hard bar of his cock. Biting my lip, I claw the table, moaning, when he lifts off me.

"We need to rock and roll. I'll meet you downstairs…in say, ten minutes," he announces as he pulls the hem of my skirt down from around my waist.

"Downstairs," I parrot in my sexually drunken state. "You're sure no one will recognize me."

"Anastasia, not with the mask and wig you wore. Your secret is safe with me." He dips down, teasing me with his lips. My eyes drift shut at the sound of his groan.

I nod. He's right. And I need to get my act together as in right now! Opening my eyes, I focus on the here and now—relegating Saturday onto a shelf. There's already enough simmering inside my brain—let's not burn all the neurons at once.

Speaking of fire. Over me, his body feels like an inferno. Heat doesn't just radiate; it roils in waves as if I'm hyper aware of him. He plants a hand next to me, pressing his mouth on just the right spot.

The one…that makes…me…loooooooose myyyyy miiiiiind. "Please!" Shamelessly I plead, stretching. Then _boom_. He backs away.

The time we spent this morning feels like eons. I'm disoriented as I push upward, and he helps me off the table. I turn and our eyes meet. He lifts a brow. One arrogant brow and it's like a glass of ice water to my senses. Oh Jesus. A dart of electricity pulses through my chest, making my nipples bead uncomfortably within my bra, and I ache for relief. With the plug in my ass, my focus detours to the space between my legs. I lower my gaze to his mouth and shiver.

"What are you thinking?" he asks, sliding his lips along my forehead.

Like the camera he snaps. _Click!_ And he's back to business.

How does he do it?

Lover.

Prick.

Saint.

"I guess it's late," I reply, corralling what I crave from him. If a gavel…or an ashtray were handy, I'll clock him with it. I get that I need to stop acting like I'm putty whenever he touches me. It's ridiculous that all my goals—heck all my good sense—fly right out the window when he's next to me. Proof is accumulating on that score! He now owns scads of risqué photographs of me, plus I'm wearing a larger butt plug…two and half days away from him fucking my ass. "What are you going to do with the photographs?" I ask him.

"Enjoy them."

"Hello? Time to think with your head. That one!" I point toward to the one above his neck and snarl, "Your phone can be assessed by the C.I.A. in case you don't remember your most recent goal…Mr. _Veep_."

"Not this one, baby."

I glance at his palm. The cell he's holding looks like his other—or does it? "So you have two phones. Why?"

"Pot. Kettle. Don't you have two phones? Where do you think I got this idea?"

"It's a product of…I don't trust my family."

"I'm not far behind. I don't trust my employer, but I trust you." He collects the other plug that's wrapped in his handkerchief.

"Meaning?" I don't follow where he's going with this idea.

"We can talk outside of work…you and I." He flashes me one of his predacious smiles, and I remind myself, no crumbling.

"Yeah. I understand the premise. Especially after yesterday and what the Vice President is setting in motion."

"Not that kind of talk," he replies, arching his brow again.

"Like what…" And it dawns on me. "Sexting?"

"Amongst other things." He suddenly stops and focuses his gaze on me. "We could just text and fuck. Talk every now and then. Instead of us being on strictly stage…we could say what we think."

_Say what we think? That's rich._ If he got wind of what consumes my thoughts, he'd rethink this thing we've got going on… me as his intern. Me as his pretend friend. His pet project—me as his 'little sub' as he calls me when he's in dirty talking mode. There are other categories—the hotter than hell kind I can't contemplate and remain upright.

Sucking in a lungful of air, I bracket my hands on my hips, vainly forcing my mind out of the gutter. This man is never without a plan and it's taking a great store of my energy trying to keep up with him. "Is this about becoming friends? It sounds like this idea of yours is in league with that ridiculous plot the Veep's piloting. What was the word the she used? _Hatched!_"

I'm trying to calm down and not relive what the hell I'm supposed to do, now that my grandparents have gotten cozy with those I'd stupidly believed would help me build a fortress between my family and myself. The fact that Gran and Pop haven't sought me out, is entirely out of character for those two. Their nature to bulldoze, when done flagrantly, is easy to sidestep. I'm more than queasy to think, Gran operating in the dark—that's nothing short of fucked all the way up!

Christian smiles darkly. "This is about us becoming more than friends." With that, he crosses his office, heading into the bathroom.

_News flash! I need to be doing the same. _"Very well." I exhale, treading toward the door. "Not that I'm agreeing to anything set in _stone_, but we're running out of time this morning."

"What does that mean?" He pauses at the doorway.

Unlocking his door, I hold onto the knob. "We can try it. The _friends_ part."

Tainted. Taboo. Erotica. That's where we've been and are headed.

Okay. I've been to hell and back for the last two weeks. And not just figuratively. I can't tell you how much your messages have meant.

Many of you sought out Seduced By The Senator and **it's back up on Amazon**.

**If you received a copy and can post a review, please do so. **

**There's two versions and Amazon will combine but I don't think it matters which one you hit. **

**IF YOU LOVE THIS STORY, AND CAN POST A REVIEW, THIS IS YOUR CALL.**

Seriously. I sent out thirty copies and for those that came through or tried to: **THANK YOU! THANK YOUUUUUUUUUUUU**.

If you posted a review and I owe you a copy. Message me your review link or your reviewer name and I'll send you a copy via Amazon.


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